Winter's End
by Calenheniel
Summary: [Hans x Elsa] A year after she lifted the curse of winter, Elsa—feeling that some matters are still unresolved—visits the Southern Isles. Notorious for its powerful Queen and its brood of princes, she knows she's running headlong into trouble. But when she allows Hans to return from exile to prove her mettle, she soon realizes that she may have bitten off more than she can chew...
1. Prologue: The Letter

**Author's Note: **This is my first big attempt at a non-AU, epic adventure on the scale of the original film (with, of course, some Iceburns flavouring), and I apologize if the summary makes it seem lame, because I promise it isn't! The prologue is short, but Chapter 1 is soon to follow. For any and all story notes, FAQ, and (perhaps) fanart related to this fic in the future, please go to my Tumblr (link on my profile page) and follow the tag "WintersEndFrozen."

I hope you all enjoy it!

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**To Her Royal Majesty, Queen Elsa of the Kingdom of Arendelle:**

Their Royal Majesties King Oskar and Queen Therese of the Southern Isles would again like to extend their deepest apologies for the incident earlier this year involving the traitor, formerly Prince Hans. As the Queen has previously been informed, the traitor has now been formally stripped of his titles, lands, and his inheritance by the King and Queen as punishment for his crimes. Furthermore, as requested by Her Majesty Queen Elsa, the traitor remains in exile on Vollan Island far to the South, where he endures hard labour daily under the watch of Her Royal Majesty Queen Therese's own relations.

Given the efforts undertaken by Their Royal Majesties to amend the ties between the great nations of Arendelle and the Southern Isles, they would be honoured if Her Majesty Queen Elsa were to grace the court of the Isles by the end of the year with her magnanimous presence. The King and Queen are prepared to spare no expense in the festivities celebrating Her Majesty's potential visit, and hope that together, our two kingdoms can finally reunite happily and peacefully.

However, given the very recent nature of the unfortunate events involving the traitor, formerly Prince Hans, Their Royal Majesties fully understand if Queen Elsa does not wish to pursue their offer at this time, but thank her nonetheless for her kind and thoughtful consideration of this letter.

Yours sincerely,

_King Oskar and Queen Therese of the Southern Isles_

_._

_._

_._


	2. Chapter 1: The Decision

**Author's Note: **I'm amazed that the prologue managed to get all of you interested in the fic; thank you for your confidence in me! I'm truly touched. Hope you enjoy the first _real _chapter!

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**Chapter 1: The Decision**

Elsa read the letter for what seemed like the thousandth time.

_To Her Royal Majesty, Queen Elsa of the Kingdom of Arende—_

Her hand crumpled the right side of it as it balled into a fist; she looked surprised a moment later, not realising she had done so, and her fingers relaxed again.

_As the Queen has previously been informed, the traitor has now been formally stripped of his title, lands—_

She stood up in agitation from her desk, staring down at the paper accusingly as the words endlessly, _viciously_ cycled themselves through her mind.

—_remains in exile on Vollan Island far to the South, where he endures hard labour daily under the watch of—_

Her lips curled into a frown.

—_they would be honoured if Her Majesty, Queen Elsa, were to grace the court of the Isles by the end of the year—_

She noticed, then, that the paper was, in fact, yellowing—and that nearly every corner of it had been creased at some point or another since it had come into her possession some two weeks earlier.

_Have I read it _that _many times?_

Her nose wrinkled at the thought in distaste, and she finally put some distance between herself and the document, walking away towards her armoire. She tried to distract herself by rummaging through it, looking for something to wear for the day; she even withdrew something resembling a presentable gown before promptly throwing it to the wayside with a particularly strong flick of her wrist.

_The King and Queen are prepared to spare no expense in the festivities celebrating Her Majesty's potential visit, and hope that together, our two kingdoms—_

She scowled suddenly.

**Our** _two kingdoms?_

She flung another dress to the side, forgetting—or perhaps not caring—that it had just been washed the day before.

_However, given the very recent nature of the unfortunate events involving the traitor, formerly Prince Ha—_

She felt ice creeping up her arm, but she stopped it a moment later with the memory of Anna stuffing her mouth full of the _extremely _expensive truffles that were _supposed _to have been served, as a delicacy, to the visiting dignitaries at court a month ago. Normally, the image of her sister's plump, guilty cheeks would have made her laugh, or at least smile.

_Their Royal Majesties fully understand if Her Majesty, Queen Elsa, does not wish to pursue their offer at this time, but thank her nonetheless—_

She ran a flustered hand through her white hair as she finally stopped herself from wrinkling another dress, and stood stock-still, breathing deeply.

_What am I _doing?

As if in answer to that silent question, a formal _knock _echoed against her bedroom door, making her jolt in surprise.

"Yes?" Elsa asked after taking a moment to collect herself, smoothing down her dressing gown in case someone should come in unexpectedly.

"It's just me, Your Majesty," Gerda's familiar voice answered, sounding as if she hadn't quite woken up yet that morning. "Shall I come in to help you get dressed?"

Her brows furrowed at the request, and she lightly pressed her hand to her forehead.

"No, Gerda, thank you—I think I'll manage on my own today."

Her lady-in-waiting sounded hesitant. "As—as you wish, Your Majesty," she said haltingly as she walked away again with the usual touch of disappointment in her tone that made Elsa feel guilty whenever she chose to dress herself.

_She takes such pride in getting me ready, _she thought with a small smile, and turned back from the door to the armoire with a softer stride. She was determined, this time, to actually _pick_ something without getting side-tracked.

_Now, _she mused, her eyes fixed on the rack, _what was on the agenda for today? _

She ran through a list of possible items for discussion with Kai and her Council—they were likely going to press her about when she was going to make her annual visit to Corona, the status of the (nonexistent) trade relations with Weselton now that the Duke had been deposed, and her replies to several marriage proposals that she had recently recei—

_Given the efforts undertaken by Their Royal Majesties to amend the ties between the great nations of Arendelle and the Southern Isles—_

She stomped her foot and slammed the doors of the armoire shut in frustration, muttering a curse under her breath as she stared accusingly at its wooden panels.

But after staring in this way for a while—and observing that the doors remained just as impassive and, well, _wooden _as ever—she finally sighed, defeated.

_This is going to take a while, isn't it?_

* * *

Elsa wasn't sure why—actually, the fact that she _had_ made her more annoyed than ever—but she'd brought the letter with her to the Council meeting.

It was balled up tightly in the hand that normally would've been studiously writing down notes during the meeting regarding the advice of her Council on matters of state, and though she badly wanted to simply toss it to the side and pick up her quill, she somehow found the act _impossible. _

_I must be going crazy._

"Your Majesty?"

Her head snapped up to attention at the address, meeting Kai's concerned expression. She tried to keep from appearing as though she hadn't been listening to a word of the conversation, her hand—thankfully gloved—relaxing somewhat.

"Yes, ah, Prince Eugene," she started, her confidence building as she continued, "you said he would be stopping at port sometime soon?"

Kai's brow eased. "The messenger from Corona said within the month, but . . ." he trailed off and an amused smile overtook his features, soon infecting the other men and women around the table. "Well, I don't need to tell you, Your Majesty—the Prince very rarely arrives when he promises to."

Elsa smiled at this in spite of keenly feeling the crumpled letter through her glove.

"That's true," she agreed, "but no matter. We'll be sure to give him a fine greeting _whenever _he arrives." She paused in thought, and asked curiously: "Princess Rapunzel won't be joining him?"

Kai looked unsure. "The message did not indicate that she would, no," he replied, but added with another exasperated sort of smile: "But, knowing them—I would not be surprised if _both_ of Their Majesties should arrive at port."

Elsa giggled a little. "No, I don't suppose I would be, either." She looked off to the side with a warm smile.

_I'm sure Anna would love it if Rapunzel came as well._

The two had become fast friends in the year since the castle gates had been opened, and Elsa herself had encouraged the relationship, knowing that—in spite of his loyalty and affection for her sister—Kristoff shouldn't be Anna's only other (human) friend.

In truth, she had taken an instant liking to the young princess of Corona as well; she guessed it was because Rapunzel reminded her so much of Anna.

_They're both so . . . _lively.

She hid a smirk at the thought, though her expression grew serious once more as she greeted the expectant looks of her advisers, clearing her throat.

"Leif—there was something you mentioned to me yesterday that you wished to discuss with the full Council?" she inquired.

The middle-aged, black-bearded man nodded sternly. "Yes, Your Majesty, and thank you for remembering," he nodded to her, and she returned the gesture. "It's about Weselton—they're requesting an audience now, since the Duke—"

"Ah, yes," she said, cutting him short. She ignored the somewhat discontented look he shot her at being interrupted. "Well, of course, we're all very pleased to receive the news of the Duke's deposal," she began, thinking silently _and it's about time, too, _"but there's no point in restarting trade with them while their government remains as unstable as it is."

Leif nodded along with the other Council members at this, though he seemed hesitant a moment later.

"Still, Your Majesty, should we not send some kind of word to the provisional government there to assure them that we support the direction in which they are headed?"

She weighed this idea in her mind, but only briefly; suddenly, she could feel the letter again, and her thoughts drifted.

—_the traitor has now been formally stripped of his title, lands, and his inheritance by the King and Queen as punishment for his crimes—_

She squeezed it too tightly, and it made an unfortunately loud _scrunch _noise which silenced all the quiet debate in the room. She swallowed as all the eyes around the table were once again trained on _her. _

"Per—perhaps we should wait a little while to make such a public statement," she said hesitantly, trying her hardest to maintain her composure. "But I would not be opposed to a private message of some kind relaying our support."

Murmurs of agreement concluded that topic, and Elsa nearly sighed in relief, her grip relaxing—but only slightly_. _

"Is that everything, then?" she asked suddenly, standing from her seat. The other Council members followed her lead and bowed their heads, knowing that it didn't matter whether the meeting had gone on for only five minutes or more than three hours—when the Queen stood from her chair, it was as good as _over_.

Kai nodded, though there was more than a drop of curious concern in his look as he spoke.

"Of course, Your Majesty," he answered faithfully. "The meeting is now adjourned."

These magic words allowed the Council members to disperse just as quickly as they had gathered in the hall, and Elsa was no different, leaving in a rush. Within a few minutes of the end of the discussion, she was back in her study, leaning tiredly on the chair by her writing desk.

"Your Majesty—what is that you're holding?"

Her skin went cold, and the temperature dropped in the room.

_Of _course _Kai would notice._

She sucked in a breath as she gestured for him to fully enter the room, and when he was standing by her side, she finally—albeit somewhat _reluctantly_—handed him the letter. He gave her a questioning look upon seeing the state of the paper, and she averted her eyes from his guiltily.

He examined it with interest, and his eyes widened once he realised where it had come from. By the end, however, his expression had returned to its usual, composed mask, and he regarded her only with the slightest hint of doubt.

"Queen Elsa . . . this is the _fourth _missive from the Southern Isles, is it not?"

She reddened at the question, and nodded after a minute.

Kai glanced at the letter again. "And you—you've not replied to this one either, I take it?"

She looked confused at the query, her cheeks still pinked in embarrassment.

"What do you mean, Kai? I wouldn't answer the letter without consulting you and the Council first."

He hid a small smile. "Yes, of course, Your Majesty, but . . ." he gestured towards the countless wrinkles in the paper. "I suppose I just find it a bit odd, if it's been playing on your mind so much, that you wouldn't have come to us _sooner_ about it."

Elsa's lips pursed stubbornly. "It hasn't been _playing on my mind _much at all," she tried to deny, frowning at Kai's sceptical look. "It's just—I just—oh, I don't _know!" _she admitted finally, throwing her hands up and resting her forehead on one of her palms. "I knew that _you _knew that I had it, but . . ." She stared at him curiously. "I suppose I was a little surprised that _you_ didn't bring it up at the Council meeting yourself."

Kai smiled at this comment, and the affectionate expression took Elsa off-guard. "My Queen," he said, patting her hand gently, "I wouldn't raise such a sensitive issue unless I was _certain _that you were ready to discuss it." He looked at the paper again, and then back up at her knowingly. "Obviously, my instincts to wait were correct."

Elsa blushed at this, staring at the letter in his hand before looking away, a little ashamed.

"I guess I'm still . . . working things out, in a way," she confessed, and sighed. "At least, I was trying to figure out how I would tell my sister about it."

Kai nodded understandingly. "Of course, Your Majesty. I suspected as much." His look grew more serious after a moment. "Still, you must remember, my Queen—the Princess is no longer a child whom you have to protect from such things as basic diplomacy, even if they do involve particularly . . . _unsavoury _individuals from the recent past."

Elsa shot him a critical look as she crossed her arms.

"That's putting it _mildly,_ Kai."

It was his turn to redden at the reproving remark. "Yes, of course, you are correct, Queen Elsa," he said quickly, embarrassed. "My apologies."

Seeing Kai so remorseful for what had been a simple understatement made Elsa sigh again, and she squeezed the older man's shoulder gently.

"Don't apologise," she said tiredly. "You should be able to speak your mind freely with me, after all." She glanced at the letter, but kept herself from frowning. "Anyway, I know you're right—whatever I choose to do, I can't be too swayed by Anna's feelings on the matter."

Elsa sat down in the chair again, stretching against its hard back, and Kai regarded her inquisitively.

"And what about you, my Queen?"

Her eyebrow rose in question. "What do you mean?"

He gestured to the letter with a troubled look. "Well, are you . . ." He paused.

"Have _you_ made a decision about it yet?"

She bit her lip at the query; she had known it was going to come up at _some _point during their conversation.

"It was easy to ignore the first few letters," she said quietly, "back when it had only been a few months since the . . . _incident."_ Her expression stiffened at the memory. "But now—now, it's somehow . . . _harder _to do so."

Kai smiled sadly. "That's only natural," he reassured her. "I know you're not a bitter person, Queen Elsa—in fact, my guess is that you'd like to move on just as much as they do."

She blushed at the pointed observation, not wanting to concede that point.

_He knows me too well—but then, I suppose that's why I appointed him a Council member in the first place._

He spoke again in her silence. "In any case, enhancing our economic ties with them would be _extremely _beneficial to Arendelle: all those wealthy landowners in the Isles rave about the quality of our fur and linen products here," he said, and continued: "And, as you know, that drink they make—_akvita—_has become popular recently here at court, and thus establishing a secure passage for its transport from the Isles would be—"

"Yes, I'm aware," Elsa snapped suddenly, though upon seeing Kai's distressed look, she winced. "Sorry," she apologised promptly, massaging her temples. "It's just . . . I _do _realize the material benefits of this, Kai, really I do," she assured him, creating a few snowflakes in her hand to ease her tension before scuttling them away into the static air. "But it's not about them. It's about—it's about . . ."

She failed to finish the thought, and looked unsure.

"It's about your _readiness_ for it all, isn't it?"

She nodded a little, pinking. He sighed at the expression, though it was not a sigh of weariness.

"That's perfectly understandable, Queen Elsa; actually, if you _weren't _having second, or third, or even _fiftieth _thoughts about going through with this, I'd be _far_ more worried."

Elsa looked up at him in surprise, the remark bringing an unexpected smile to her pale lips.

"Really?"

He nodded, and smiled back. "Truly," he replied with a small wink. "So please—take your time, and consider the missive's merits, few as they may seem now," he appealed to her gently. "And—if you don't mind me saying so—perhaps it would ease your mind to discuss it with Princess Anna."

Her brow rose sharply at the suggestion.

"How would that _ease _my mind, Kai?"

_She'd probably say I'm crazy for even _thinking _about going to the Isles, _she mused with a frown, her arms unconsciously crossing.

"I have the feeling that the Princess may be more willing to contemplate the idea if _you _are the one suggesting it," he said, his eyes warm. "Her Highness can be quite feisty, of course, but she also adores you, Your Majesty—and if you were really set on something, I think even _she_ would find it difficult to refuse you."

Elsa looked apprehensive at the remark, wondering if there was really any truth to it.

After all, weren't they talking about the same Princess Anna who—when told by her older sister that she had to look _extra _presentable at an official dinner with the King and Queen of Madris—had come back into the castle, soaked to the bone from diving into the fjord with Olaf, only ten minutes before the event?

She hid a mixture of a grimace and a smile at the recollection, and the outward result of these confused feelings was a simple, resigned shrug.

"We'll see."

* * *

"**No." **

Elsa swallowed a sigh, trying to be patient.

"It would only be for two weeks, and they've already reassured me on multiple occasions that _he _won't be present—"

"No," Anna repeated firmly, and stabbed her fork through her chicken with particular ferocity_. _"No _way, _Elsa."

Finally, her older sister frowned. "Anna, be _reasonable,_" she urged quietly, glancing warily at the guards posted at either end of the dining hall. "I've already been avoiding this for far too long, and it would be best if—"

"Then you can _keep _on avoiding it!" Anna exclaimed, glaring. "Honestly, Elsa, what are they going to do? Start a _war _because the queen that their _stupid, sideburny, no-good, lying, not-even-that-good-looking _son tried to kill won't visit them? I don't **think** so."

Elsa's brow rose at the long list of colourful adjectives, and Anna reddened.

"I'm just _saying,_" she emphasized, stuffing a piece of the chicken in her mouth, "You don't _have _to do this. In fact," she added, talking between chews (despite knowing Elsa _hated _that habit), "you're better off not going there at all. Just _think_ about it, Elsa," she said, swallowing, "if _he_ was the youngest of _thirteen _brothers, and if even _he, _the baby, turned out so bad, what about the others? And what about his _parents?" _Anna shuddered at the thought. "I don't even want to imagine what _creeps _they must be."

_She has a point, _Elsa conceded, if only internally. Indeed, she had wondered about the same thing herself on many occasions over the past few months, usually after reading and re-reading the missives from the Isles so many times as to make the words on the paper appear unrecognisable.

Still, she didn't want to admit defeat just yet. "Even so," she began more slowly, ignoring Anna's irritated look at her remark being dismissed, "that doesn't change the fact that we need to repair our relationship with them, so that they can recommend us to other potential trading partners; it hasn't been easy securing those, since so many other kingdoms don't—"

She cut herself short as her expression dropped, and she gripped her own fork and knife tightly.

_. . . don't want anything to do with me _or _my curse._

Anna read her sister's distraught brow and light eyes easily, and her own look eased, appearing more sympathetic.

"I know," she said finally, and placed her hand atop Elsa's. Her sister's skin was icy. "I know, Elsa."

Elsa warmed, but only a little, and Anna sighed.

"Look, I—I'm not just saying 'no' because of what he did to _me_," she said, "and not even because of what he _almost _did to you." Her nose wrinkled at the memory. "Even if—and this is a big _if_—he really _is_ in exile like they keep saying he is, and they are honest about wanting you to come over to 'make peace' or whatever," she continued, frowning, "it just doesn't . . . _feel _right, somehow."

She gripped Elsa's hand for effect. "I'm afraid that something would happen to you over there, something—something _bad."_

Elsa smiled a little at her sister's concern, unable to help but feel touched by it.

"There's always danger in travelling beyond the gates, Anna," she reminded her, "but we made a promise to each other, didn't we? That we'd keep them _open?"_

Anna pinked at those words, though her blue eyes grew stubborn.

"I don't see how that has anything to do with you going into that _snake pit_," she retorted with a glare.

Elsa's brow rose expectantly. "Keeping the doors open doesn't just mean allowing people in—it also means that we can go _out_."

Anna's lips pursed in a fashion similar to Elsa's, and she pouted.

"But do you have to go out _there?" _

Elsa shrugged as she absently sipped her wine. "Of course I don't _want _to, Anna, but that's not the point." She tiredly poked at the steamed cabbage, now cold, on her plate. "Sometimes, the best way to come to terms with the past is just to . . . confront it head-on, I suppose."

Anna gaze was sceptical. "Did _Kai_ tell you that?"

Elsa frowned. "_No,_ he didn't," she replied, miffed at the suggestion. As she stared at her abandoned plate of food, however, her lips relaxed. "Actually, it's something that I—that I've been thinking about for a while, myself." She rested her chin in her palm and—to Anna's surprise—placed her elbows directly on the table, closing her eyes briefly.

"I just want to get this over with so I don't have to think about it anymore, to be perfectly honest."

Anna finally smiled at this admission, though she kept her expression impressively determined.

"Well, _that _I can understand," she quipped, making the queen smile a little as well. "But if you go, I'm coming with you."

Elsa's eyes snapped open again at this comment, and she gazed at Anna in surprise.

"What, Anna, no—"

"I won't take 'no' for an answer, Elsa," her younger sister replied, crossing her arms. "There's no way I'm letting you go there by yourself."

A chill blew across the room.

"You _have _to, Anna," Elsa said succinctly, and Anna shivered at the sudden cold. "I won't leave Arendelle without a ruler in my stead, and—as much as I trust Kai and the others—I would vastly prefer it if _you _were the one watching over the kingdom."

Anna blushed with pride at this, but—sensing that Elsa was building her up on purpose to distract her from her goal—she shook her head and frowned more deeply than ever.

"_No_, Elsa," she repeated, her arms tense as the chill continued to hover around the dining table. "You can't _seriously _expect me to sit here and watch you go off to that—that—that _place!" _she exclaimed, and suddenly threw her hands up in frustration. "I'd be worried sick every second of every _day_ that you were away!"

Elsa wanted to be irritated at Anna's obstinacy, but found herself, once again, moved by her sister's affection—even if it was a slight inconvenience to her present aims.

_She really loves me._

"I'll write to you every day—twice a day, even," Elsa promised, hoping the conciliatory gesture would soothe Anna's nerves.

Her sister's frown, however, only grew.

"You're talking like you've already decided to leave me behind."

Elsa looked pained at this, but couldn't deny it.

_I can't take her with me._

"What am I supposed to _do _here, anyway, if you leave?" she asked suddenly, gesturing around the large, empty dining hall with a wrinkled nose. "Attend your boring meetings about politics? Organise balls? _Greet visitors?" _ This last suggestion caused her to stick her tongue out in distaste. "It sounds _awful."_

"I thought you _liked_ organising balls," Elsa remarked, trying to hide her smirk at Anna's theatrics.

"Only if _you're _there, too!" she shot back, pouting petulantly. "Who am I going to talk to if you're gone?"

Elsa smiled more genuinely at this. "I'm sure you'll manage it," she said confidently, and added with the slightest of conspiratorial tones: "Besides, Kristoff will be around to keep you company, won't he? Not to mention Sven and Olaf."

Anna's lip twitched as she turned bright red, and Elsa continued: "Anyway, I need you here to welcome Prince Eugene when he calls at port from Corona, since I don't think I'll make it back in time to see hi—"

"_Flynn _is coming to court?" Anna asked excitedly, nearly jumping in her seat at the news. "When?"

The queen gave her a lightly reproving look. "You really have to remember to call him by his _actual _name, Anna," she reminded her, though the girl ignored her sister's comment.

"Oh, he doesn't mind," she said dismissively. "Just so long as I don't call him that when Rapunzel's around."

"_Princess _Rapunzel," Elsa corrected again, but without her usual, chiding tone. "But you really should try to address him properly while he's here."

Anna rolled her eyes. "If you say so," she said with a shrug, though her gaze lit up again in the next moment, turning on Elsa with sudden forcefulness. "Hey! Stop trying to distract me!"

Elsa blinked. "From what?"

Anna scowled.

"From the issue of _you _going _alone _into the vipers' den, which I totally did _not_ agree to yet!"

Elsa's brow rose wearily.

_I guess she can't bring herself to just say "the Southern Isles," can she?_

"It's not a matter of you _agreeing_ to it or not," she said sternly, recognizing that her attempt to approach the issue more gently had failed. "You're staying here, and that's final, because—" She paused, meeting Anna's angry stare.

"Because I don't want _you _getting hurt, either."

Her look was knowing, and pierced through her sister's peevishness with stinging clarity.

"And I know that going there will only bring up bad memories for you."

Anna's scowl lessened on this point, though she remained unconvinced. "Weren't you the one who said we have to 'confront the past head-on' so we can get over it?" Her look softened a little.

"Why don't we do that _together, _Elsa?"

Elsa felt her resolve weaken at her sister's plaintive tone, one part of her desperately wanting to give in and say _yes, of course Anna, what was I thinking? I would _never_ go without you!—_but the other part viciously rejecting the idea even more strongly than before.

"We just . . . _can't," _she said finally, breathing in sharply as she saw Anna's expression fall at the answer. "I need you here,"she added steadfastly, regaining her bearings, "in case anything _does _happen to me over there." She stared at Anna pointedly, and concluded:

"One of us _has_ to be here—for Arendelle."

Anna was uncharacteristically silent at this; when she finally spoke, her lips were pressed in a thin, unhappy line.

"Even _if_ you're right," she started slowly, her gaze unusually sharp, "I don't like this, Elsa. I don't like this at _all."_

Elsa gripped her wineglass, and her blue eyes tightened.

"Neither do I."


	3. Chapter 2: The Gossip

**Author's Note: **Thank you for all the lovely reviews, follows and faves! Glad you're all enjoying the fic so much, and I apologize for taking a tad longer than expected to upload this next chapter. But from here on out, you can expect about an update a week. Hope you enjoy!

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**Chapter 2: The Gossip**

The longer Elsa stood and watched as Gerda and her assistants bustled about the bedroom packing her belongings into a series of luggage cases, the more she felt herself doubting every decision she had made in the past month.

_I'm not _actually _going, am I?_

It hadn't seemed any realer two weeks ago, when she received an unexpectedly prompt reply from the Southern Isles after sending her note accepting their proposal. At the time, though, she'd simply pushed that letter towards Kai to read aloud to her, refusing to allow herself to get so worked up again over a flimsy piece of _paper_.

Even though he'd read the words to her, and she had, at the time, acknowledged them, a part of her wondered if she had_ really _understood anything he'd said at all.

_I guess I have to go now anyway, whether I understood or not, _she thought, defeated, and sat down in a chair by her dresser, turning towards her mirror.

A tired, drawn face stared back at her, and she frowned.

_I haven't slept enough recently, either._

She pulled lightly at the bags under her eyes before sighing and rolling her head slowly across her shoulders, attempting to stretch the sore, tight muscles there.

A _knock _thumped against the door, followed by Kai's voice as Gerda opened it for him.

"Queen Elsa?"

She looked up at the door, her eyes blank from exhaustion, and nodded lightly. "Come in, Kai," she said gently, not rising as she normally would, and gestured for him to sit in the chair by her.

Seeing that he had brought her no books or particular documents to read in preparation for her visit—during his last appearance, he had produced a four-volume set of tomes entitled, ironically, _A Brief History of the Southern Isles and Their Ruling Families_—she was somewhat intrigued by his empty hands.

"You have some news to tell me?"

Kai nodded diligently. "Yes, Your Majesty. I wanted to inform you in advance of your departu—"

From the corner of her eye, Elsa noticed Olaf waddling in past the guards outside, and she regarded him with a smile, distracted from whatever Kai had started to say. She wasn't used to the snowman wandering into her room, since he and Anna were closer friends and usually he went directly to her.

Somehow, though, his presence was a welcome respite from Kai's serious stare.

_And all of _this.

"Olaf," she greeted him warmly, and the snowman paused in watching Gerda's and the other maids' antics long enough to glance back at her in surprise.

"Elsa!" he exclaimed, hopping over to her with a toothy grin, and his snow cloud, as always, was in tow overhead. "So you're really leaving, huh?"

Her smile faded at this question, and he pressed one of his twiggy arms to her lap in concern.

"Oh, uh, I didn't mean to sound so happy about it," he said with a sheepish look. "I mean, we're all going to miss you a lot when you go."

He added, after a pause: "_Especially _Anna."

Elsa tensed at this without meaning to, and she closed her eyes for a moment.

_He's always so . . . _straightforward, _isn't he?_

It was a quality she'd never had, and so she supposed she had subconsciously imparted her desire for it to Olaf when she'd created him. And amazingly, even after a year, he still managed to catch her off-guard with his remarkably pointed observations.

Her smile was small, but genuine. "I know," she said after a time, and gave Olaf's arm a slight, affectionate squeeze. "And I'll miss all of you, too."

Olaf looked reassured by her answer, and patted her leg.

"Just remember, if you need someone to beat up that creep who tried to kill you," he said with narrowed eyes, his voice lowering and his tone grave, _"I got your back."_

Elsa hid a giggle at this, doing her best to keep her expression just as grim.

"Of _course, _Olaf," she whispered back with a furrowed brow, though her lip twitched in amusement. "I wouldn't even _dream _of going to anyone else."

When the snowman was decidedly satisfied with this reassurance, he drew back from the queen.

"Good. Well, it was nice talking to you, Elsa," he said as he glanced at the women packing her bags again, and then back at her. "I'll see _you _later," he added with a knowing look as he slowly left the room.

Elsa couldn't help but give in to the laughter bubbling up inside of her when the door shut behind him, and she was doubly thankful that Kai didn't appear to disapprove of her doing so. She rubbed her eyes as the giggles subsided, smiling widely.

"I apologise for the interruption, Kai," she said as she straightened herself out in her chair again, facing him fully. "He doesn't visit often, so I thought it couldn't hurt to let him in."

Kai smiled. "On the contrary, Your Majesty," he said, bowing his head a little, "I think it's a good thing that he _did _visit. You were looking rather . . ." he paused, "_weary _before he showed up, if you don't mind me saying so."

She shook her head, and another sigh involuntarily escaped her lips.

"No, you're right," she admitted easily. "I've just been so . . . _tired _recently, what with preparing to leave and making all the necessary arrangements for Anna," she tried to explain, and her hands locked messily in her lap. "I haven't had much time to sleep, or even to—to . . ."

_. . . to _process _all of this, _she thought with a small frown.

Kai nodded in understanding, and patted her coiled hands gently. "It's been a difficult few weeks, I know," he said, and his calm voice relaxed her. "But I think you've held up remarkably well under the circumstances, my Queen."

She pinked. "I'm glad you think so."

His brow rose. "I _know _so," he remarked, and smiled when her stare met his in surprise. He coughed after a moment. "Anyway, I came here to speak with you about something . . . _important_," he said vaguely, and glanced at Gerda and the other ladies in the room.

Elsa immediately snapped to attention. "Yes, of course—I'm sorry for getting distracted earlier," she apologised quickly, though Kai dismissed the gesture with a shake of his head.

"There's no need, Your Majesty," he said.

She turned to Gerda in the next moment. "Gerda, would you mind giving us some privacy?"

Her lady-in-waiting nodded dutifully. "Of course, Your Majesty," she responded and waved out the other girls, leaving last so she could close the door behind them.

Once alone again, Elsa's gaze returned to Kai's. "So—what was it that you wanted to discuss?"

He cleared his throat. "Well, knowing that you've likely already finished the volumes I brought you during my last visit," he began, "I thought I'd better come to personally fill in the gaps as to the nature of the Isles' _current _rulers."

She swallowed nervously at his confidence in her studiousness.

_I suppose this wouldn't be a good time to mention that I'm only halfway through the _second_ book._

She pushed away the guilty thought, and nodded. "Of course. What about them, Kai?"

"As you know, Your Majesty," he replied, "the Isles are currently administered by Their Royal Majesties King Oskar of the Westergards and his wife, Queen Therese, and—as you're probably also aware—the King and Queen have sired thirteen boys during their reign, one of whom was—" Kai paused, and flushed with irritation at the thought of him. "Well, there's no need to speak his name."

Elsa's eyes narrowed. "_No, _there isn't," she agreed thinly, and a small flurry of snowflakes rushed past her cold expression.

Kai swallowed. Even being used to seeing her powers as he was, they were still somewhat terrifying in their beauty to behold.

"I—I wasn't sure if you'd heard any of the stories about . . . about Queen Therese," he said haltingly, hoping to pique her interest enough to bring some warmth back to the room. "There are many, you see, and, well . . . none paint in her in a _particularly _flattering light, to say the least."

Thankfully, Elsa's curiosity won out over her temporary anger at the mention of the traitor, and the snow disappeared.

"What do you mean, Kai?"

He relaxed a little, but his tone grew sombre. "I don't want to simply repeat awful rumours about her and the King to you, Your Majesty, lest they be factually inaccurate," he said judiciously, "but I feel it's my duty to make you aware of what has been said."

Elsa refrained from rolling her eyes at his hedging preface, doing her utmost to keep her expression clear and attentive.

"I understand," she assured him, "so please proceed."

He nodded at this encouragement, and continued.

"She's a very . . . _unique _individual, Your Majesty. A seamstress who rose up to become the Queen of the Southern Isles—it's practically unbelievable. And although her simple origins have endeared her to the public," he said with a frown, "you can imagine the kind of resentment it's caused towards her amongst the courtiers there over the years."

Elsa nodded softly at this, but her brows furrowed. "But how did she become Queen, then? And how did she maintain her position, when—as you say—so many dislike her for it?"

Kai looked uncertain. "Her rise to power is the most difficult thing to explain, I'm afraid, when trying to separate the truth from fiction," he admitted, his shoulders tense. "Some say she disguised herself as a courtier and seduced the King during a ball; others that she used magic to enchant him while he was visiting the village where she lived; and then, there are those who say—who say that she . . ."

When he didn't finish, his expression troubled, Elsa waited with bated breath.

"What, Kai? What do they say?"

He reddened, looking down. "Forgive me, Your Majesty," he said, contrite. "It's too awful a rumour to repeat, I think."

Elsa swallowed a frown at his hesitation, forcing herself to be patient with him.

"Please, Kai," she touched his hand softly, "it's all right."

He looked up at her again, and their eyes locked; his, she noted, were more anxious than ever.

"They say that she—that she _killed_ someone," he said finally. "Someone close to her: a brother, sister . . . even her _mother or_ _father," _he said, mortified. He added, more quietly: "And all that just to take the throne and marry a man who was old enough to be her father."

Elsa swallowed uneasily, suddenly understanding why Kai had been so uncomfortable in telling the tale.

_It sounds like something out of a gothic novel, _she thought darkly, her heart thudding faster in her chest, _and just as hard to believe._

She stared apprehensively at her hands in her lap, then up at Kai's grave features.

"Is this—is _any _of this—really true, though?"

He frowned, his brows knitting together. "Honestly, Your Majesty, I cannot say for certain," he confessed. "But if even _one_ of these things has _any_ truth to it," he continued, eyeing her cautiously, "then you must absolutely be on your guard when you are there, for she is _not_ a woman to be trifled with."

_Obviously_ _not, _Elsa thought, and a strange chill ran down her spine at the image which her mind suddenly spun of the wicked Southern Queen: a tall woman, black of hair and black of eyes, with lips as red as the roses of summer . . .

"What does she look like?" she asked Kai suddenly, wanting to erase the dark picture from her thoughts.

He was taken aback by the query. "Well, I'm not entirely sure, since I've never met her myself, but . . ." He wracked his brain for a memory—of something that someone had said once to him about it, or something he'd read in the papers—and when he seemed to land upon it, he scratched his chin thoughtfully. "I vaguely recall hearing that she had eyes as bright as emeralds, and hair like maple leaves in autumn," he said slowly, "but I could be mistaken." He blushed a little. "All I know for certain is that she is meant to be beautiful—one of the most beautiful women in all the lands, in her youth—but, of course," he quickly corrected himself, "now, considering her age, I doubt she can hold a candle to _you, _Queen Elsa."

Elsa wanted to blush at the compliment, but she was too caught up in the depiction of the Queen's features to fully appreciate it then. She closed her eyes as she tried to picture the woman Kai had described in her mind: eyes as bright as emeralds, and hair like maple leaves in autumn—

_Your sister is dead . . . because of _you_._

Her eyes shot open at the memory, and she gripped the fabric of her dress tightly, grimacing as she felt it become icy beneath her fingertips.

_Why did I—why did I suddenly remember _him?

As she calmed herself down again, the answer was clear to her; in fact, she wondered how it hadn't occurred to her even as the words had left Kai's lips.

_Of course she would look like _him, she thought to herself, frowning. _Or, more likely: _he_ looks like _her.

"Your Majesty?"

She shook off the unpleasant thought, and greeted Kai's worried gaze.

"I'm sorry, I—I was off somewhere else for a moment," she excused herself with an unconvincing laugh. "Was that all, Kai?"

He didn't look convinced by her explanation, unsurprisingly. Nonetheless, he carried on, sensing her discomfort with the previous topic.

"Well, there are a _few_ more details you should know."

Her eyebrow rose reluctantly in curiosity. "Such as?"

"King Oskar, for instance," he started with a much easier expression than the one he had worn for Queen Therese, "is also an interesting case. As I mentioned earlier," he continued, "he married the Queen while she was still just a girl, no more than fifteen—and he over forty."

Elsa held back a small gasp at this age difference, not having expected it to be quite _that _large.

"_Fifteen?" _she asked incredulously, to which Kai nodded solemnly.

"I'm afraid so," he confirmed. "And she was not his first wife, of course—he'd been married once previously, also to a younger woman, but she unfortunately died in childbirth, and he married Queen Therese mere _months _after the previous queen's passing." He pursed his lips in disapproval. "Had he not taken another wife and produced an heir to the throne, however, it was likely that one of his two younger brothers might have tried to depose him."

Elsa's gaze flashed with recognition at this information.

_Maybe he didn't _just_ get it from his mother after all._

Kai went on. "And even though he _did _go on to produce many heirs with the young Queen, I'm afraid that there are equally unhappy reports circling around the King."

Elsa stared at him expectantly, and he explained: "Although he's very advanced in age now—nearly eighty, I suspect—he's never been a particularly . . . _respected _ruler," he said, and from his tone it was obvious to her that he was reluctant to cast too many aspersions on the King while he lived. "According to my contacts who have visited the Isles, he's regarded as being quite, well, _susceptible _to the wishes of the Queen—even in official matters of state."

When Elsa's lips turned down in a sudden frown, Kai backpedalled, red as a cherry.

"Of course, that's not to say she doesn't have the right to advise him privately or even to attend such meetings in person, Your Majesty," he amended, though Elsa's look was as profoundly annoyed as before. "I meant—that is—well," he stuttered, looking guiltier than a chastised dog, "the Isles—they're not as _progressive _when it comes to this sort of thing."

He couldn't look her in the eyes, though her expression had lightened at this last comment.

"A woman's involvement in diplomatic affairs, trade, military issues—it's simply _unheard _of there," he explained. "Or, at least, it _was _. . . before the current Queen came to power."

Elsa considered this idea with wide eyes, but not with any particular sense of shock.

She had often suspected, in fact, that—rather than being intimidated by her powers to create snow monsters out of thin air or ice daggers sharper than the swords most soldiers carried—the _real _reason that some of the neighbouring kingdoms to the east had refused Arendelle's trade had more to do with her lack of a husband ruling in her place.

_But I thought the Southern Isles wouldn't have such problems, _she mused, _since they are fairly close to us by comparison._

"So the Queen controls him," she surmised bluntly, "and thus his own people do not respect him."

Kai blushed at her forthrightness, unused to it. "In a matter of speaking . . . yes," he conceded. Pausing for a moment, he then added: "But there's something else about the King, as well, that has led to these strange circumstances."

"Go on," Elsa pressed him, and he fidgeted uncomfortably.

"Again, Your Majesty it's—it's not an easy thing to discuss in . . . _polite_ society," he said reticently, "since it has to do with—with the _paternity _of the King's sons."

Her face flushed.

"Paternity?"

His cheeks were equally rouged. "Yes—at least, that is what the _gossips_ say," he emphasised, sitting straight up in the chair. "But I must stress that such rumours have never been proven true, and the King himself has claimed all of his and the Queen's sons as his own, so . . ."

"But the possibility remains," Elsa cut in as he trailed off, her expression returning to its normal pallor. "Doesn't it, Kai?"

His answer was unusually circumspect.

"Yes, I suppose so."

She thought of _him _in that moment—tall and proud, a regal nose, fine auburn hair—and found it difficult to consider the possibility that he might not be of royal blood at all.

_But there are far stranger things in this world than a handsome man of low birth, _she reminded herself, and looked down at her bare hands in consternation.

"And what of the Queen, then?" she inquired, pushing away the stray thought. "If not her husband, then surely _she, _at least, must have the public's support?"

"A very astute observation, Your Majesty," Kai praised her. "Indeed, you are correct: the Queen appears to have taken great pains over the course of her reign to ensure that the public's affections remain in her favour," he noted, "mainly through the normal means of 'bread and circuses,' but also by way of public works projects and regular engagement with the people."

At this information, Elsa didn't know whether to admire the woman's tenacity . . . or to be even _more_ apprehensive of her singular, overwhelming drive to maintain her hold on power through whatever means necessary.

_Oh, Anna . . . if only there was someone out there who loved you._

The latter feeling towards the Queen won a decisive victory in that moment, and Elsa snapped her hand open and shut long enough to create a large burst of snow to hurl into the wall on the other side of the room.

"What about the brothers?" she asked suddenly, her forehead wrinkled in irritation. "Do you know anything about _them?"_

Kai nearly bolted out of his seat in surprise at the snow blast; soon, however, he realized that it was just another one of Elsa's "stress-related" moments, as he called them, and he relaxed again.

"I'm afraid I don't know much, Your Majesty," he confessed embarrassedly. "Only a few details about their occupations and such."

He cleared his throat as impatience finally began to surface on her features, and went straight to the point.

"The oldest—Magnus, I think his name was—is a general in the Army there," he began, "and the second-oldest—Finn, Ferdinand, I can't quite remember—is the head of the Royal Guard." He looked off to the side in thought. "The others are mainly diplomats and military officers in the Royal Army and Navy, from what I understand, but I'm sorry to say I can't recall their names at the moment."

"I'm sure I'll learn them soon enough," Elsa said with a disinterested frown, her eyes narrowing.

Seeing her crossness, Kai tried to change the subject. "Anyway, this all goes to show, I believe," he said somewhat nervously, "that this Queen Therese can prove to be a powerful ally for us."

"Or a formidable enemy," Elsa countered, her blue eyes sharp.

Suddenly, she was reminded of what Anna had called the Isles during their conversation at dinner two weeks ago—a "snake den," or had it been the "vipers' pit"? She was sure she was mixing them up somehow—but the descriptors now seemed more fitting than ever.

Kai swallowed, discomfited at the idea. "Yes, or _that_." He sighed, resigned. "In any case, I don't think that you going there will hurt our chances for friendship. And besides," he added, "in spite of their worsened reputation, the reports coming in recently show signs that their relations with previous allies have been improving, and some of these allies are the very same ones who have been . . . _reluctant _to partner on similar terms with Arendelle."

His observation went straight to the heart of the matter, and Elsa understood it keenly. The reminder that her kingdom remained cut off from important trade routes that it desperately needed to maintain a comfortable standard of living for all of its citizens—and that this was on account of her powers, or, perhaps, her _gender_ and _unmarried_ status—had the sudden and crushing effect of ending the futile debate in her heart that would otherwise have lasted until the day she set foot on the boat headed for the Isles.

"I understand," she said soberly, and her expression was hollow. "And I will go."

Kai's expression fell at her heavy voice, and he tentatively rested his hands on her shoulders, making her flinch.

"If you need me to, I—I would gladly accompany you, my Queen," he said seriously, and his grip tightened. "Just say the word."

Elsa shook her head. "No, Kai," she said softly, "I need you _here. _With Anna." Her gaze, still distant, locked with his. "She'll need your help more than I will." After a pause, she added: "And besides, I'll have Leif with me, and, well, you know him—he's as hard-nosed as they come. I'm sure he'll be able to guide me through the negotiations."

Kai sighed in defeat. "I understand," he acknowledged her point, and rose from his chair. "I'll do everything in my power to make sure things run smoothly in your absence, Your Majesty."

And with this concluding reassurance, he bowed gently to her and left the room—but not before shooting her his usual look of distress at the predicament.

Elsa released another blast of snow at the wall just as soon as Kai was gone, though she was mortified to find that it had created a crater in its wake.

_I really _have _to stop doing that, _she reprimanded herself, and finally withdrew a pair of thin gloves from a nearby drawer.

She felt a mixture of relief and irritation as she slipped them on, glancing up at the hole in the wall with a grimace; she supposed, as much as she had been trying to keep from wearing any kind of gloves recently, she still needed them while she was learning to control her powers.

However, as she stared down at the white gloves—a present from Kristoff for her last birthday (and one that Anna had nearly killed him for), since he'd observed, correctly, that she didn't have much in the way of _variety_ with that particular accessory—a sense of dread struck her, and she clasped her hands together tightly.

_I'll have to wear these _all the time_ there, won't I?_

It was a bitterly unattractive idea—in fact, it made her scowl to even _consider_ it—but, all the same, she knew it would have to become a practical reality.

After all, bearing in mind the fantastical stories Kai had just regaled her with, coupled to her _own _experience with the progeny of the Isles' ruling family, she could easily imagine herself losing control of her temper—and where her temper flew, so, too often, did little shards of ice from her fingertips.

But she couldn't do that—or, more to the point, she couldn't _let _herself do that—anymore.

_Unless, of course, _her mind interrupted, _a certain _someone _decides to show up._

She swatted away the cruel thought just as quickly as it had come, baffled by her sudden was no way she would be seeing him, anyway, since he was, as the letters from the Isles had _repeatedly_ made clear, both cut off from the throne _and _living in exile on some far-off island.

_But it's still an island in the Southern Isles, _her brain reminded her, and she frowned at the notion.

Even if he _were _still in the Isles chain, she highly doubted—given what she now knew of Queen Therese and her great cunning—that his mother would dare to allow him anywhere _near_ the main island of Strande, let alone even speak his _name _in Elsa's presence, lest she permanently ruin any chance their kingdoms had to finally make right what he had thrown into disorder.

She contradictorily reassured herself at last with the idea of the Queen's ruthless determination working in her favour, and moved to sit by the window.

Nevertheless, as she stared out onto the kingdom below, watching children play by the fountain in the castle courtyard under the warm, summer sun, something inside of Elsa stirred—and a coldly familiar feeling struck her heart.

_Fear._

* * *

There was a knock on the door to her study, but she didn't bother looking up from her paperwork.

"Come in," she said automatically, signing her name onto what seemed like the _hundredth_ document with a cramping hand.

Anna peeked her head out from behind the door, at first; however, seeing the queen so intensely concentrated on her papers, she ducked a little.

"Oh, sorry—I didn't realize you were still—"

Elsa finally glanced up, recognising the voice, and she stood in surprise.

"Anna! Please, don't leave," she said hurriedly, gesturing to an empty chair by the desk. "I was just about to finish, anyway."

Anna smiled brightly at this, though Elsa suspected that her younger sister knew that she was lying, since there was never a "finish" to the work of the Queen of Arendelle, even as the clock neared midnight.

"I just need to do one thing," Elsa excused herself, and rolled up the letter she had signed, hoping that she hadn't smudged the ink too badly inside. Once rolled, the queen blew softly into her open palm—creating a tiny, beautiful ice fractal in the shape of an official seal—and pressed it to the paper, freezing it shut.

Anna watched the process fascinatedly as if it were the first time, rather than the _thousandth,_ that she were witnessing it; and Elsa, amused by her sister's enthrallment with the simple act, handed the letter to her.

Anna blinked, her eyes wide. "Can I—can I touch it?" she asked innocently, staring down at the seal of ice.

Elsa smiled. "Of course." After a moment, she added with a smirk: "I promise it won't melt."

Anna rolled her eyes at the remark, though it made her smile as well. "Well, _duh," _she said, and inspected the seal close-up. "It's _your _ice, after all." She lightly pressed her fingers against it, and there was a kind of reverence for Elsa's powers in her touch. As she stared at the creation, it seemed to glitter and glow with a hundred different colours, capturing and refracting every bit of light from around the room.

"It's so beautiful," she whispered, mesmerised.

Elsa reddened, unused to Anna being . . . well, _stunned _into such quietude.

"Thank you," she said awkwardly, and coughed suddenly, hoping to dispel the silence.

Anna blushed herself, embarrassed to have been caught ogling her sister's magic.

"Sorry," she said quickly, and handed the letter back to Elsa. "I just—it's just—well, it's really pretty," she explained, flustered.

Elsa smiled again at this, and squeezed Anna's shoulder tenderly.

"It's fine," she said gently, placing the letter back down on the table. Her eyes glanced behind Anna to check the grandfather clock at the opposite end of the room, and they widened when she realized what time it was.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, surprised, and turned her large blue irises onto her sister. "What are you doing here so late?"

Anna glanced at the clock as well—though she knew what it would say without needing to see it—and shrugged nonchalantly.

"It's not that late," she said, making Elsa's brow raise sceptically, "not for _me, _anyway." She was indifferent to her older sister's questioning look. "You know me. I don't really _get_ sleepy, since I always have too much energ—"

She yawned suddenly, and Elsa grinned.

"You were saying?"

Anna's face heated in embarrassment. "I _usually _have too much energy," she mumbled under breath, and Elsa giggled behind her hand.

The queen tried to put on a more serious face after a moment, and sighed.

"Well, you should really try to go to sleep at a _normal _hour, Anna," she told her, though a smile broke through her attempt to give this advice. "But, seeing as _I'm_ still awake as well," she conceded, "I suppose I shouldn't be telling you what 'normal' is."

Anna was taken aback by this self-aware comment, but managed to grin about it in the next moment, nudging her sister gently in the ribs.

"No, you shouldn't be," she agreed, and the two laughed.

As their laughter subsided, Elsa regarded Anna with genuine curiosity.

"So . . . what brings you here, then?" she asked, her brow furrowing. "It's—it's been a while since you visited, after all."

Anna bit her lip at the query, suddenly feeling awkward.

"Oh, uh, well, I guess I just—I just wanted to see you, and, uh, apologise about—about how I've _been, _lately," she said, and a small frown settled onto her pink lips. "I mean, you're leaving _tomorrow_, and I just didn't want—I didn't want things to be _weird_ between us before you left, I guess."

Elsa's own smile dissipated at the reminder of her upcoming trip—not to mention the reminder of why she was still even _up _so late in the evening, the night before her departure, signing stacks upon stacks of papers.

Likewise, Anna's comments brought to mind the on-and-off frosty relations between the two sisters in the weeks since Elsa had made her decision to leave. The Princess had been in a near-constant irritable mood since Kai had started her on a strict schedule of lessons on the management of the state, the history of the Royal Council, and on the ruling families of their neighbouring kingdoms, leaving her little time to go off and see Kristoff, let _alone_ talk much with Olaf inside the castle.

Seeing her younger sister so unhappy at this turn of events had roiled Elsa with guilt, though Kai was always quick to detect this and chide her for even _daring _to feel it.

_After all_, he would always say to her, _Anna is to be the Princess Regent, and she must learn these things at some point or another—it might as well be now, while you are away._

Not wanting Anna to see her personal reservations with the situation, Elsa gestured for her sister to sit down by her in the spare chair, and warmly took the girl's hand into her own.

"I know it's been hard on you, too," she said kindly, and Anna looked down as if ashamed. "Learning so many new things, and not having much time to yourself . . . I really do appreciate everything you've done for me."

Anna looked surprised at Elsa's gratitude, not having expected to receive it. "It's—it's nothing," she tried to shrug it off, blushing. "It's not like I could just keep on doing whatever I wanted anyway, right?" She smiled tiredly. "It's just . . . I'm so _bad _at this stuff, Elsa!"

Elsa's lip twitched with a grin as Anna sighed loudly, flopping back against the plush chair.

"Memorizing the names of all these kings and queens and dukes and _earls," _she listed wearily, "plus all their fathers and grandfathers and great-grandfathers and great-great-_great _grandfathers . . ." she trailed off, and pressed her fingers to her temples. "It's _impossible!"_

Elsa smiled widely. "I'm sure you'll manage."

Anna stared back at her sister's smile with a sceptical frown. "I'm not even managing _now," _she groaned, and her eyes met Elsa's with begrudging admiration. "I really don't know how you do it," she said, a hint of envy colouring her tone. "I mean, I was always jealous of how smart you were when we were kids, but _now_ . . ." She pouted. "I _really _feel like there's no chance that I'll _ever _catch up to you."

Elsa sighed quietly at this, and squeezed Anna's hand. "Don't underestimate yourself, Anna," she told her, and her eyes were steady. "You're strong, and kind, and—and you're braver than I could ever be," she assured her, though a flash of pain darted across her blue eyes at the admission. "I'm sure—no, I _know _that you'll do a fine job in my place."

She wondered if Anna had seen the brief regret in her expression—that dash of sorrow—but from the girl's warm cheeks and even warmer hand in hers, she somehow doubted it.

"Thanks, Elsa," she said quietly, and suddenly hugged her older sister tightly. "I'm really going to miss you when you're gone," she added in just above a whisper, and Elsa thought she could hear a small sniffle as Anna buried her face in her shoulder, her arms shaking.

"Anna?" she said concernedly, tentatively stroking the back of her sister's strawberry-blonde head. "Are you—are you all right?"

The girl hesitated for a moment, still clinging to Elsa; soon after, however, she separated from her with lightly red eyes, and sniffled as she wiped away any trace of tears, a bright smile plastered onto her features.

"I'm fine," she said cheerfully, dismissing Elsa's apprehension. "Just got caught up in the moment." She grinned to prove this, though she still had to sniffle a couple more times to remove any last evidence of her moment of weakness. "Anyway, I, uh—I guess I'd better let you get back to your work," she said as she stood again from the seat, glancing at the pile of letters. "Just, um, make sure you get some sleep tonight, all right? Because I don't wanna have to see you off with huge, ugly bags under your eyes."

Elsa's brow rose at this, and Anna reddened.

"Not that you ever _get _huge, ugly bags there, or anything," she stammered nervously. "I just meant—uh, you know—"

"It's _fine, _Anna," Elsa cut short her rambling with an amused look. "I'm a person like anyone else—and I _do _get huge, ugly bags under my eyes, too."

Anna's lips curled into a shy smile at this admission, and Elsa patted her on the shoulder. "Anyway, I promise I won't stay up too late—so you should go now, too, and get some rest."

Anna nodded reluctantly, and gave her sister one last, brief hug before finally making her way back to the door, still smiling. "See ya tomorrow," she said and waved in parting, waiting until Elsa had waved back to quietly close the door behind her.

Elsa smiled contentedly, even as the door _clicked _shut and Anna's footsteps faded into the distance.

_I'm glad we could be on good terms before I leave, too, Anna, _she thought, staring at the door peacefully, a_nd I'll miss you every second of every day that I'm gone._

The clock struck midnight.


	4. Chapter 3: The Departure

**Author's Note: **Thanks again for the kind reviews and for being patient as we make our way through the exposition-filled, first few chapters to get to the Southern Isles! Slightly shorter one for you this time, but hope you still enjoy it.

* * *

**Chapter 3: The Departure**

Elsa watched, amazed, as Kristoff loaded her last bag into the cargo hold of the ship—the bag being nearly _twice_ his size—and easily brushed off the dust that it left on his vest as if the task had been nothing at all. The guards aboard the ship likewise stared at him in stunned silence, and something suggested, by their expressions, that they hadn't thought such feats of strength humanly _possible_ up until that moment.

_But then, he _does _carry around huge blocks of ice for a living, _she told herself, her eyes still wide.

Kristoff greeted her wondering gaze with a questioning look.

"Anything else you need help with, Your Majesty?"

She snapped out of her daze to shake her head gently, though a small smile crept onto her lips.

"No—that was the last of the luggage, thankfully," she informed him, and continued more playfully: "But I _would _very much like it if you just called me 'Elsa.'"

He blushed at the request, still unused to Elsa speaking with him so informally.

"Uh, um, of course, Your—_Elsa," _he corrected himself, fidgeting uncomfortably. "Sorry if I—if I, uh, offended you before."

Elsa stopped herself from laughing at his bashfulness; it was so entirely different from Anna's brash extroversion that it sometimes caused her to wonder how the two had ever gotten together in the first place.

_He's more like _me _in that respect._

"You did no such thing," she reassured him with a soft pat on his bulky arm, and he jumped a little at her touch, smiling nervously.

"I'm glad you're in such a good mood, Your—"

She gave him a good-natured look of warning, and he swallowed.

"_Elsa,"_ he finished, redder than ever. "Because, you know, Anna was saying—well, she was saying that you might not be today, considering . . ."

Elsa's smile dipped at this remark, though she knew he meant well. "Ah, well," she began, trying to sound casual, "I've had a lot of time to prepare for this, as you know, so I—I'm fine, really."

He regarded her sceptically, and she was suddenly afraid that he would press her further on the matter—but, fortunately, whatever question had been forming in his mind was abruptly interrupted by the arrival of Anna as she barrelled onto the scene with Olaf in tow, looking between Kristoff and Elsa with bright eyes.

"So, is everything loaded onto the ship?" she asked, glancing over at the ship behind Kristoff where the crew were struggling to rearrange the same bags which he had so easily tossed in. "Are you all ready to go, Elsa?"

Elsa forced herself to look pleasant. "Yes, everything's loaded," she said simply. "And as for being ready, well," she paused, and her eyes tightened, "I suppose I'm as ready as I'll ever be."

Olaf clutched at her dress with a sad expression. "Do you really have to go, Elsa?"

Elsa froze at the question; seeing her discomfort, Anna stepped in, leaning down to Olaf with an embarrassed look.

"Of _course _she has to, Olaf!" she exclaimed, though not with her usual verve. "She can't just _back out_ now that everything's packed and settled, now can she?"

Olaf's body slumped at this, and his grip on Elsa's dress loosened.

"I guess not," he mumbled unhappily.

Anna placed a comforting hand on his back as she looked back up at her older sister, and Elsa granted her a grateful smile in return, knowing it must have been difficult for her to defend a decision she had so vehemently disagreed with from the outset. She crouched down until she was at eye-level with both the snowman and her sister, and gently nudged Olaf's head up to greet her gaze.

"I'll be back before you know it," she assured him sweetly, and gave him a gentle hug.

He seemed to melt slightly against her embrace, and a contented sigh escaped his mouth. "Good! 'Cause your hugs are the best."

Anna pouted at this. "What about _mine?" _she countered with faux jealousy.

Olaf waved her away dismissively, his twig arms remaining comfortably enfolded around Elsa's waist.

"Save yours for the smelly reindeer king," he remarked, and Kristoff frowned at the nick name, making Anna giggle. It seemed that no matter how many times Olaf called him that—even if in jest—the _Royal Ice Master and Deliverer of Arendelle_ could not tolerate the joke.

She glanced around for a moment, and looked at Kristoff in concern. "Speaking of which—where's Sven?"

The Ice Master jerked his thumb over at the stables across from the dock where the reindeer was happily munching on a pile of carrots, oblivious to the events around him.

"He's right where I left him," he replied disinterestedly, "stuffing his face."

Anna smirked at the comment and stood, facing him. "Aw, Kristoff," she teased, poking his chest, "is that _jealousy _I hear?" When he frowned at the suggestion, she continued with a grin: "Should I go get you a bag of carrots, too?"

He grunted in annoyance at the question, crossing his arms moodily.

"I'm not hungry."

Of course, as fate would have it, his stomach growled at that exact moment—and Anna bowled over with laughter at the noise, leaning against his stock-still frame as she wiped tears of amusement from her eyes.

"Oh, Kristoff," she said, and pressed herself against him with a large smile, "you're so _cute."_

He pinked at her sudden closeness, and at being described with such an . . . _effeminate _word, which somehow made him feel more akin to a _puppy_ than a grown man.

"Whatever," he grumbled under his breath, and she kissed his cheek fondly, watching with satisfaction as his face turned a bright shade of red.

Elsa observed all of this over Olaf's shoulder with a secretive smile, wondering if Anna noticed—or even _cared_—that not only her older sister, but nearly _all _the eyes of the Queen's and Princess's attendants and advisers were glued to the scene.

_There's no use reminding her of that today, though._

In the past, Elsa would have stepped in, shooting the young couple a warning look or coughing suddenly to get their attention and direct them away from the public eye; these gestures, she had thought, would keep them from being talked about at court.

Of course, she couldn't be there _every _time to break up one of Anna and Kristoff's rendezvous, and that meant that, no matter how much she tried, the two would always be a hot topic for gossip, even in spite of her elevating Kristoff's status to the _Royal _Ice Master and Deliverer.

Over time, however, she had come to realize that, if Anna and Kristoff could stand the heat of others' stares and whispers—and especially if _Kristoff _could, knowing that he was nearly as introverted as she was—then _she_ could also handle it, and that she should feel reassured in the knowledge that they cared for each other to the extent that they were willing to bear that level of public scrutiny in order to remain together.

"You know, there's an empty stall next to Sven if you guys need a room," Olaf commented dryly as he separated himself from Elsa, who blinked in surprise at the remark.

Anna and Kristoff's faces burned as a few of the surrounding maids and advisers quietly laughed at the snowman's quip, and even Elsa had to hide her grin (though she winked conspiratorially at Olaf later when her sister wasn't looking).

Before Anna could think of something clever to say back, Kai cleared his throat, placing himself squarely in the middle of the group with a raised brow.

"Your Majesty," he began in a more serious way, "I'm very sorry to be breaking up the festivities, but . . ." He glanced in the direction of the ship, and her gaze followed his eyes to the crewmembers on deck, waiting impatiently. "I believe it's best if you go now, while the sun is high."

Her heart _thumped_ in her chest dully at the suggestion, and she nodded a little, standing up again and patting any dirt from the dock off her dress.

"Of course," she said automatically, and sent an apologetic look up to the crew. She turned to her ladies-in-waiting standing off to the side, and gestured towards the plank. "Gerda, Hilde, Marianne, Nina—would you all please make your way to the ship?"

Gerda nodded and promptly ushered the younger girls onto the ship first. She stood on the plank and gazed back, exchanging looks briefly with Kai; Elsa watched this curiously, wondering what it meant, but it was over almost as soon as it had started, and Gerda boarded the ship without another word spoken.

Kai swallowed as she turned away from him, but he straightened his posture again as Elsa walked past him to stand before Leif, motioning again to the ship.

"Please, go ahead," she said softly, and the older man bowed deeply before he also boarded.

Finally, she made her way back to Anna and Kristoff, a ghost of a smile tracing her pale features.

"Anna, I . . ." she began, but the words seemed lost in her throat as she stared at her sister, whose large, blue eyes were glossed over with a sheen of unshed tears.

_I'll miss her _so _much._

She suddenly enclosed her in a tight embrace, hiding the tears that had started to form in her _own_ eyes; somehow, it didn't matter that in the past, she had gone weeks and _months _at a time without seeing Anna, because things were just . . . _different, _now.

_We're not strangers anymore._

Anna hugged her back just as tightly, though she had little to offer by way of reassurances or parting words.

"_Elsa . . ."_

She managed her sister's name through sniffles, burying her head in Elsa's shoulder.

They stayed that way for a while—or at least as long as Elsa felt it was probably appropriate to do so, given the constraints on the time—and when they parted, she finally allowed herself a small smile, giggling along with Anna at their matching red, puffy eyes.

"I thought I told you I didn't want to send you off with _ugly_ eyes," Anna joked, her brows furrowed sadly.

Elsa smiled. "Sorry," she apologized, wiping away a stray tear from Anna's cheek. "Just got 'caught up in the moment,' I guess."

Anna grinned lopsidedly. "Me too."

Elsa glanced up at Kristoff finally, and felt slightly guilty that he had been standing on the sidelines, ignored, for the majority of this rather intimate, sisterly exchange. She pressed his arm gently, and with a smile, she said:

"You'll look after her, won't you?"

He was about to answer with his standard, "Of course," as he always did to Elsa's requests; but, catching the dirty look Anna shot him, he sighed, and replied in a defeated tone:

"Well, I'll do my best, but . . . you know _her."_

Elsa shot Anna a knowing smirk at this, but her younger sister pretended not to notice it, jabbing Kristoff lightly in the side.

"That's right," she confirmed with a proud snort, "you'll do your _best."_

He rolled his eyes at the comment, and Elsa laughed a little. "I'm glad," she said, smiling, and gave both of their arms a final, gentle squeeze as she stepped back, sighing. "Well, I—I'll see you both again soon," she said inelegantly, stumbling over her words. "I'll write to you as soon as I arrive," she said more directly to Anna, and her sister nodded.

"_Stay safe, Elsa,"_ she whispered back, grasping the queen's hand firmly. _"And _never _give in."_

Elsa met Anna's solid gaze with surprise; after holding it for a minute, she finally assented with a strong nod, and gripped her hand back.

"I won't."

* * *

Her head was **pounding**.

_These waves are _killing _me._

Elsa leaned over the wooden bucket that she had become all too familiar with since her midsized boat had begun its journey from the sunny, steady waters of Arendelle across the choppy sea separating it from its neighbour to the South. Her face was ashen as her arms attempted to steady her body, her hands grasping the sides of the pail hard enough to give her blisters in her palms.

In fact, she'd spent most of that morning picking out the ones she had gotten the night previous, since she had come to realise that the nights proved the worst.

_At least there are only two left to go—or so they _say_._

The unforgiving nature of the waters had extended the travel time to over a week when it should have only taken five days; increasingly, she read the delay as a harbinger of things to come when—or, rather, _if—_they ever arrived at their destination.

(It didn't help that she was generally terrified by rocky seas ever since her parents' deaths, and so with every severe, sudden shake of the hull, the fear that she, too, would find her way down to a watery grave struck her _painfully_.)

"_Oh,_ Queen Elsa!" Gerda fussed, pressing a cold towel to the girl's forehead. "We should get you to bed!"

Elsa shook her head with some effort, though she didn't push away Gerda's hand.

"No, I can't," she said weakly, and she winced as she felt a splinter embed itself in her left thumb. "I'll get sick if I stand up right now."

The older woman frowned. "Then I'll have one of the guards carry you there," she said, and started to march towards the door of the private cabin.

Elsa stopped her with a cold hand on her wrist. "_Please, _Gerda, **don't**," she pleaded, and her face paled as a wave of nausea rolled over her. "I'll be fine—I just have to let this pass."

Gerda frowned concernedly, but obeyed, and returned to Elsa's side. She knelt on the wooden floor next to her queen, and sighed as she continued to wipe away the sweat that collected on her brow, cheeks, and neck.

"It's been such an _awful _journey, hasn't it?" she said, downcast. "But, from what the crew have been saying, it seems as though the North Sea is rarely peaceful."

Elsa did her best to listen despite her intense dizziness, thankful, at least, for some kind of distraction from the _hammering_ sound her brain was making inside of her skull.

"So," she said slowly, trying to breathe, "it's often like this?"

Gerda shrugged as she soaked the towel in a basin of water nearby. "That seems to be the case," she said as she wrung it, and the sounds of the excess droplets hitting the surface of the water were like _needles_ in Elsa's ears.

Gerda's brow rose in suspicion as she pressed the freshly-soaked towel to Elsa's chest, her eyes closely studying the queen's grim features.

"Now don't you go thinking that this is some kind of . . . _ill omen, _or any of that nonsense," she lectured her quietly, frowning. "I won't have my Queen believing in silly superstitions only a few days before she's due to arrive at a foreign court."

Elsa's heart jumped in her chest—whether from the sudden swaying of the ship or from Gerda's surprisingly apt remark, she wasn't sure—and she dry-heaved over the bucket.

Once she had regained her senses enough to form a sentence, she glanced at Gerda exhaustedly.

"But you must admit," she breathed out, panting, "it doesn't _look _good."

Gerda sighed, supporting Elsa as her arms shook from the effort of holding her weak body up.

"A rough ocean is a rough ocean, Your Majesty—there's nothing we can do to change that," she said simply, and stared with wise, patient eyes. The look reminded Elsa of Kai. "What's important is that _you _know that going in, and that you face it **without** fear."

Elsa's eyes widened in surprise, unused to hearing Gerda speak so frankly—and with such _sage_ advice.

Her lady-in-waiting only smiled at the expression as she wiped the queen's forehead.

"Forgive my forwardness, Your Majesty," she excused herself, and brushed Elsa's stray bang behind her ear. "I know it's not my place to make such comments, but—"

"**No**—you're right," Elsa interrupted, her voice a near-croak. She paused to lick her dry lips, her head still bowed over the rim of the bucket. "I shouldn't be so gloomy, even given—" she breathed shallowly, "even given the current—current _circumstances."_

Gerda looked unsure as to whether she should smile or be alarmed by the comment, considering how pale Elsa had become; she decided on a third option, and brought a canteen of water to her queen's lips.

"Drink," she said gently.

Elsa only shook her head, her face grey. Gerda frowned, and pressed the canteen more firmly to her mouth.

**"Drink."**

It was a command, that time—and Elsa reluctantly obeyed, swallowing down as much of the lukewarm liquid as she could before she coughed for air, spitting some of the water back into the bucket.

Gerda looked satisfied in spite of the queen's sputtering.

"That's good. Now, if you keep taking small sips, maybe whatever's in your stomach might—"

Elsa threw up.

* * *

The next two days were blissfully calm, and the Queen of Arendelle wondered, absently, if Gerda's words on that night had somehow—_magically,_ perhaps—quelled the raging sea.

It was a silly notion, to be sure, but after a week of on-and-off, _severe_ motion sickness, Elsa thought she could afford to entertain such frivolous ideas once in a while.

_I have to while I still _can,_ anyway._

The thought made her jaw clench unconsciously, and she turned away from the wide oceanscape before her. Even though they didn't seem any closer to land than before, the crew had assured her that they would be arriving in just a few hours' time—earlier than expected on account of the improved weather.

Had they not caused her such misery, she would have wished, at that moment, for the rollicking waves to return and delay their arrival again; but, given her apparent inability to handle such turbulence, she thought it was probably best not to wish for anything at all.

Suddenly irritated by the salty smell of the sea all around her, she rose from her seat by the bow of the ship, and two of her attendants rose as well, intending to shadow her as they usually did.

She rose up a hand to stop them. "I'm fine—Marianne, Nina," she made sure to address them by name, and wore a smile for their benefit. "I'm just going to get some rest before we arrive."

They both curtsied and answered, in unison, "Yes, Your Majesty," to which Elsa nodded in acknowledgment before departing.

Even en route to her cabin, she made sure to greet and make pleasantries with the crewmembers and guardsmen, never revealing her apprehension. It was only when she had entered her quarters again, and heard the door _creak_ shut behind her, that she finally sighed in relief.

_Alone at last._

It was rare that she'd had time to herself over the past week, since her near-constant state of illness had forced Gerda to remain by her side day and night. Not that she minded the woman's presence, of course—she was quiet and diligent in her work, only offering stories or anecdotes when she sensed that Elsa was well enough to respond to them.

In spite of this, there had been so much on Elsa's mind about the trip that she hadn't even _begun _to properly contemplate on account of the rough waters—and so many items of official business that she hadn't been able to attend to—that having Gerda around certainly didn't _help_ her ability to put to use what little concentration she could muster for such matters.

Elsa plopped on the small cot inside the cabin tiredly, feeling as if she hadn't slept in a month (though, in truth, she'd gotten nearly nine hours the previous night). As she adjusted her head on the soft pillow, she held her hands up to the light streaming through the window, and stared at the sky-blue gloves that covered them.

_I shouldn't be wearing these, _she thought with a frown, and promptly took them off, throwing them to the side.

She felt more relaxed as her bare fingers soaked in the fresh air streaming in from the window, cracked slightly open; nonetheless, her eyes travelled back to gaze at the gloves lying limply on the floor near the bed.

_But I'll _have _to wear them there._

It was an inevitability that she would have to conceal her powers again, once she was in the Isles. She couldn't afford to antagonise—or intimidate—another potential trading partner, even if it was one that she didn't particularly _want_ to have in the first place.

Still, the idea of having to wear them again, and for so long—_two weeks!—_was reprehensible, especially considering how far she thought she had progressed with her self-control.

She suddenly realised, in fact, that her powers had been muted the entirety of the past week, despite the harsh travel and her recurring distress. The more she thought on the reasons as to _why _this had been the case, however, the clearer it became that her never-ending nausea had probably cancelled out the effects of the ice.

_I suppose I can't be vomiting _and _creating blizzards at the same time, _she mused with a frown, and rolled over on her side, turning away from the gloves again.

The solidness of the wooden wall in front of her calmed her thoughts for a moment, and she closed her eyes, feeling as if she could drift off again into sleep.

_Your sister? She returned from the mountain weak and cold. _

_She said _you_ froze her heart._

Her eyes opened as if someone had slapped her hard across the face.

_Why does _he _keep showing up in my thoughts?_

The mere memory of his _face_ was enough to set her on edge, let _alone_ recollections of his cruel words and deeds, and she wondered if she had made the right choice, all those months ago, in personally ensuring that he was **not** imprisoned for his crimes.

_What was I _thinking?

She remained baffled, even then, about what _exactly_ had compelled her to write that letter to the King and Queen of the Isles requesting a change in his sentence. At the time, everyone had called her crazy for doing so—Anna, Olaf, Kai, the Council, her own _people_—but news of the traitor's punishment, exile to and hard labour in the unforgiving Vollan Island, the part-farmland, part-penal colony furthest south in the Isles' chain, had been enough to quell most of the misgivings regarding her decision.

Anna, in particular, had taken the longest to come around; but when she finally did, she had actually been somewhat _enthused _by the idea that the man who had betrayed her and nearly killed her sister would be toiling away on a dreadful farm somewhere for the rest of his miserable life, thinking it a more fitting end to his dark tale than the cold idleness of a prison cell.

Elsa herself had come to terms with the arrangement quickly enough, and had even forgotten about it almost _entirely_ once the initial ruckus surrounding the situation had quieted down. But as the months passed and the missives from the Isles suddenly began stacking on her desk, it became harder to simply push the thought of him from her mind—and, worse yet, it became _impossible _to contemplate refusing his parents' offer of peace when they raised it on such agreeable terms.

_And here I am now, _she thought glumly, _on my way to meet them._

Somehow, it didn't matter that he was in exile—or, at least, as far out in "exile" as his parents had apparently been willing to send him. Even though she believed the King and Queen (though she wasn't sure _why_ she did), and believed that she wouldn't see him ever again, much less on _this_ trip . . . something about the whole arrangement made her uneasy.

_It's not as if he's going to escape _just_ so he can take revenge on me, _she reasoned with herself, and sighed audibly. _He doesn't seem like that kind of person._

She glowered at the thought, and her skin went cold.

_But I don't know what kind of person he even _is.

She created a few ice crystals and suspended them mid-air to distract herself from brooding, as that activity seemed a futile one to engage in when she was due to arrive at port so soon. Even this, however, did little to calm her nerves.

_There's no point in worrying. I'm _not _going to see him._

No, her eyes hardened, she wouldn't—but she _would _be meeting his twelve older brothers, many of whom, presumably, would share his features.

_Not to mention . . . the _Queen_._

Kai's description of her appearance had been stuck in Elsa's mind since the day he'd given her the laundry list of dark stories about the Isles, and she knew, instinctively, that seeing the Queen in person would _undoubtedly_ be the most painful reminder yet of all the awful events of the last year which she had tried to push to the back of her mind.

_Eyes as bright as emeralds, and hair like maple leaves in autumn._

She suddenly remembered _his _face with greater clarity than she would have liked, and—matching it to the picture she had of his mother—she shuddered at the resemblance, realising that it would likely be even _more_ striking in person.

She only hoped that she could maintain her composure when she was there, standing in front of the King and Queen, with all these thoughts and images racing through her mind on an endless loop. Beyond this, however, she wasn't sure how she could handle _two weeks _of such pretend pleasantries, as the idea that she should be accompanying the Queen or _any_ of her **brood** around the castle grounds and into the cities, day in and day out, made her grimace unhappily.

_But I'll have to bear it—for Arendelle._

She swallowed, closed her eyes, and set her lips in a firm line.

_And for _myself.


	5. Chapter 4: The Arrival

**Author's Note:** This is a long one, guys—almost 8,000 words. So sit tight, and please enjoy the ride.

* * *

**Chapter 4: The Arrival**

Gerda lightly shook her, her tone urgent.

"Your Majesty," she said quietly, "I'm sorry to wake you, but . . ."

Elsa groggily shifted in the bed, her eyes half-closed in slumber.

"We . . . we're . . . wait, _what?"_

Gerda held back a giggle at the confused, embarrassed look that suddenly appeared on the queen's tired features.

"Don't worry, Your Majesty—we still have an hour before we make landing," she assured her, giving Elsa a hand as she struggled to get up. "I wanted to give us enough time to get you ready before then."

Elsa nodded lightly, not quite comprehending the situation. It felt as though she had been asleep for _days _instead of just forty minutes—if the clock on the wall was telling the truth, that is.

_When did I even fall asleep? _she wondered in bemused silence as the other three ladies-in-waiting entered the room, carrying between them a dress and shoes, makeup, and a washing basin, respectively.

She allowed them, in her half-awake state, to wash and prepare her without complaint, as she needed the time to bring herself, mentally, back to the world of the living. They made quicker work of her than usual, and Elsa had to admit that she was impressed by how soon she had been slipped into the official arrival dress, a lilac-coloured, long-sleeved gown with deep blue panels on the bodice (and the same colour gloves to match).

Nevertheless, it felt _unbearably _hot to be wearing that garment on such a warm day, and Elsa continually took great pains to cool herself down without damaging the dress itself.

Once the main portion of the process had been completed, Gerda dismissed the others, attending to the queen's hair. Elsa watched with some distaste as her long braid—which she had kept for the majority of the journey there, since it was more comfortable—was undone and then pinned up into a regal bun, the look bearing an unfortunate resemblance to the one she wore on the day of her coronation.

"Gerda, can you—" Elsa began, unable to look into the mirror any longer, "can you . . . _change_ it, slightly?"

Gerda glanced at the queen's aggrieved reflection, and then at her handiwork—and she promptly took out the pins in Elsa's hair, looking mortified.

"I'm so sorry, Your Majesty, I—I really didn't mean to—"

"It's fine," Elsa interrupted, half-smiling to reassure her. "I'm just being fussy."

The older woman frowned at this, and gripped Elsa's shoulder affectionately. "No, my Queen—your request is _perfectly_ reasonable," she said firmly, rearranging the white locks. "I should have known better. Forgive me."

Elsa smiled more genuinely at this. "There's nothing to forgive," she said quietly, and touched Gerda's hand softly. "Nothing at all."

Gerda smiled after a moment as well before focusing on her hair again, holding a chunk of it against Elsa's head briefly.

"I'm sorry to press on you like this, Queen Elsa," she said apologetically, "but I'd like to try something new, here, and it may require a bit more effort than usual."

Elsa felt contented again despite the heaviness of the hair against her skull. "I'm sure it will look wonderful."

Gerda grinned.

"It will be _fabulous."  
_

* * *

She was surprised by how many of the common people were waiting at the port of Strande Island—and equally by their raucous, enthusiastic reception of the Snow Queen to their warmer shores.

"_Queen Elsa, bless you!"_

"_Long live the Queen of Arendelle!"_

"_Good health and good tidings to you, Queen Elsa!"_

She smiled despite her general feeling of trepidation as she was escorted down the plank onto the dock by her guards, waving good-naturedly to the people on all sides. Leif, Gerda and the other ladies-in-waiting looked similarly dumbfounded by the overwhelmingly earnest greeting, though they, too, were soon smiling and bowing their heads shyly at the attention.

Still, Elsa had to fight the urge to touch her hair, her hand flexing mid-air.

_It really _is _fabulous._

Gerda had done a beautiful twist on her favourite style—a simple braid—by starting it on the top of her head and then working its way down to frame the left side of her face in a flattering, feminine manner. Just _thinking_ about how wonderful it looked when she had seen it in the mirror a few minutes before made Elsa glow with unusual pride.

"Your Majesty," a man came forward from the front of the crowd, bowing deeply before Elsa, "allow me to introduce myself. I am Prince Ivar of the Southern Isles, serving as a diplomat at the pleasure of Their Royal Majesties King Oskar and Queen Therese." His head remained bowed as he continued: "It's an honour to finally make your acquaintance."

He was the same height as the only _other _prince she'd met from the Isles, and wore the same white, ceremonial suit that _he _had worn on the night of her coronation ball, though almost nothing else about him reminded her of the traitor.

His hair, for one, was a dark red—nearly brown—and his eyes, though green, were a few shades duskier as well. Between this and the fact that he sported an impressive full beard, spectacles, and a bit of a pot belly, she actually felt somewhat _reassured _that, of all the King and Queen's progeny to greet her first, it had been him.

She bowed her head gently to the prince, but did not offer her hand—the lack of this gesture, however, did not seem to surprise nor bother him as he regarded her with a neutral stare.

"Likewise," she answered, if somewhat stiffly, adding: "And I am sorry for the delay to our arrival. The sea was . . . _unkind _to us, I'm afraid."

The prince's mouth twitched. "Unfortunately it happens all too often, Your Majesty," he said with the barest hint of sympathy, unsettling her a little. "There's nothing to apologise for, as we always plan for such delays." His back straightened. "Anyway, it's a good thing you arrived today, as it appears that the sea is due to be unquiet for a few more days yet."

Her heart seized a little at this information.

"Unquiet?" she asked, concerned.

_Will my letters get back home to Anna?_

He nodded, though he didn't seem to understand why she looked so worried.

"Yes, Your Majesty," he repeated, "but with any luck, they should calm down again by next week."

She swallowed at this, wanting to press further; but then, seeing how the prince stared at her impatiently, she simply assented with a nod of her own.

_I'll worry about it later._

"Then I am grateful for arriving today as well," she said quickly, and gestured to her side. "Prince Ivar, this is my adviser, Sir Leif. He will be accompanying me on all official business while I am in the Isles."

Ivar nodded, and Leif bowed—but not as deeply, perhaps, as he _should_ have in the presence of foreign royalty.

"Your _Highness,"_ he said in an even harder tone than Elsa's, making the prince's eyebrow raise briefly in question.

Elsa shot her adviser a warning look and quickly plastered on a smile, which the prince reciprocated in just as dishonest a manner.

"A _pleasure_ to meet you as well, Sir Leif," he drawled, and motioned to the small welcoming party from whence he had approached them. "Your Majesty, if you don't mind," he said, maintaining his smiling mask, "there are a few other people I'd like to introduce you to before we proceed to the palace."

She nodded, trying not to become distracted by the cheering crowds around her.

"Of course."

He led her to the four other men standing nearby—all dressed _identically_ in the same, white suits—and they introduced themselves, one by one.

The first looked remarkably like Ivar, at least in hair and eye colour and general facial features—but he was leaner and fitter, and sported only a moustache.

"Prince Anders of the Southern Isles," he said, and her eyes widened as she looked between him and Ivar with a quirked brow.

"You two are . . ."

"Twins," they said together, and glared at each other in the next moment; this tension, however, only elicited some muffled chuckles from the other men.

"I see," she said, and couldn't help but smile.

_I wonder if they drew straws to decide which one of them would be able to greet me at the docks first._

The second man broke in shortly after. "Prince Kristian," he said informally, and added (after receiving a sharp glare from his older brothers): "Of the Southern Isles, as you might have already guessed."

Her lip twitched in amusement at this remark, though it earned the prince nothing but irritated looks from the others. Comparing him to them, she wondered if he looked more like the King with his light blue eyes, slight physique, and plain, shaggy, long brown hair tied back into a ponytail.

"A pleasure," she replied promptly, nodding.

"Tor—it's your turn, now," Kristian said, nudging the man by his side.

The third looked up through his long, red-brown bangs, bored—apparently, staring at his feet had been more interesting than _properly_ greeting the Queen of Arendelle—and he managed a slight bow, mumbling moodily:

"Prince Tor. Southern Isles."

"_Why _did we bring him along, again?" Kristian remarked dryly, and received dagger-like stares from the rest of his brothers in return. He glanced up at Elsa at this, and reddened. "Apologies, Your Majesty."

She shook her head, meaning to reassure him that she didn't mind—but was interrupted when the fourth coughed, obviously trying to draw attention away from the previous "disappointing" brothers.

"Your Majesty," he said reverently, and bowed the deepest of all the princes thus far, "I am Prince Adrian of the Southern Isles and a member of the Royal Guard, and it is my great honour to meet you here today."

She regarded this last brother with the most interest, if only because he looked so_ different_ from all the others before him—and because of how _forward_ he had been in his introduction compared to the rest.

_He's . . . _handsome_._

He was, objectively, beautiful: tall, with an athletic physique, short, strawberry-blonde hair a few shades lighter than Anna's, and sea-green eyes that swirled and drew her in like the ocean itself. Combining these features with his bolder manner, it seemed likely to her that he was popular with the ladies at court.

Somehow, Elsa felt comfortable in acknowledging that he was an attractive man; she supposed it was because he was attractive in a way that was entirely different from the way that his _unfortunate _youngest brother was.

_. . . the _paternity_ of the King's sons._

Kai's words suddenly rang in her head as she regarded the prince, and she only hoped that the glimmer of realisation that had flashed across her eyes had not been seen by the man before her.

"Your Highness," she acknowledged, and nodded.

He continued after a slightly dramatic pause, meeting her gaze. "I wanted to offer you, in person, my _deepest _apologies on behalf of our youngest brother, who _disgraced_ our family and this great country with his crimes. Please be assured," he said, his tone serious, "that he is now paying the price for them."

Elsa wanted to frown at the reminder, having just been able to forget, if only for a moment, about the thirteenth son in observing the dynamic between the princes—but she forced herself to be polite.

"Thank you," she said, her voice betraying her discomfort. "I appreciate that."

Noticing her unease, the prince sought to change the topic—_quickly_.

"I don't mean to be rude, but, I _must_ say, Your Majesty," he started again, his eyes magnetic, "you are even more beautiful in person than I could have ever imagined."

Elsa might have reddened at this compliment, drawn in by his unwavering stare as she was; but Anders cleared his throat suddenly and glowered at Adrian before turning to Elsa, his expression all business.

"Your Majesty," he spoke as formally as he could to contrast his younger brother, "if you don't mind, I think it would be best if we continued on to the palace."

When she glanced back out of the corner of her eye at the ship from whence she'd arrived, he continued:

"Not to worry, Your Majesty—our men will assist your crew in unloading the luggage from the ship, and deliver it to the palace shortly after we arrive there."

She nodded and repeated "Of course" for what felt like the thirtieth time that day, and then followed the brothers and their accompanying protection—a group of Royal Guardsmen, she presumed—to the carriages that awaited them at the entrance to the port.

Elsa waved and smiled gently to the crowd as she moved across the dock, though the heat of the Isles' sun made her want to do nothing more than encase herself in a block of ice. Even on the hottest of summer days in Arendelle, it never became like _this, _and she suddenly understood—and secretly _envied_—how some of the men in the crowd could go without shirts.

_I'd do _anything_ to at least take off these _gloves.

After what seemed like an eternity, she felt herself take one of her men's hands and step into an open-air carriage, sitting with a small sigh of relief.

To her surprise, then, something—or, rather, some_one—_suddenly nudged her in the side, and she looked down, blinking.

Gerda stared back up at her, handing her a fan. "It's not much, my Queen, but since we're travelling separately, I thought it best to—"

"Thank you, Gerda," Elsa said appreciatively and carefully opened the fan. "I assure you it will be put to good use, and I'll see you again once we reach the palace."

Gerda smiled tiredly and nodded before trudging off to the carriage prepared for her and the other girls. Elsa looked after her with some concern, knowing that the older woman probably wasn't handling the heat very well herself.

"Always plans ahead, that Gerda," Leif remarked as he took his seat next to her, his forehead sweating. He turned to Prince Ivar as the man boarded the carriage, sitting across from the Queen. "How far to the palace, Your Highness?"

Ivar took a pocket-watch out from his jacket, glancing at it briefly. "No more than twenty minutes, Sir Leif," he said quickly, eyeing the man's obvious discomfort expressionlessly.

Leif nodded, looking relieved. "That's good to hear."

Anders climbed in last, sitting across from Leif, and exchanged a look that Elsa didn't _quite_ understand with his twin brother.

"Are we ready to leave?"

Ivar eyed the line of carriages behind them—and then at the one next to theirs, carrying the rest of the princes—and nodded curtly, tapping the driver once on the shoulder.

Elsa jumped a little in her seat as the ride began bumpily, transitioning between the wooden planks of the docks to the stone road leading to the palace. She couldn't complain, however, about the bit of breeze that swept by her, and Leif seemed positively _blithe _with happiness at the brief respite from the incessant heat.

Anders, seeing the adviser's weariness, pulled out a small fan from inside of his jacket.

"Please, use mine," he offered, his smile small and tight. "I'm used to the heat."

Leif hesitated for a moment, staring at the fan uncertainly. It wasn't until his queen gave him a slight nod of reassurance that he finally accepted it, and thanked the prince quietly for the gesture.

In truth, Elsa was silently observing the interactions between the brothers with a cold kind of fascination, her curiosity unexpectedly piqued by the quirks she had noticed about each one so far—and, more generally, by the fact that _none_ of them seemed bothered by the intense heat in spite of the fact that they were dressed in full suits.

Ivar, for one, seemed to be the most imperious of the five she had met, with little desire to engage in the kinds of pleasantries which she would have assumed his occupation normally called for. That much had been obvious, anyway, from the way in which he had _not _offered his fan—which she was _sure _he had stowed away in the exact same place as his brother's had been—to Leif.

The thought made her gaze flutter over to Prince Anders, who quickly averted his eyes from hers out of respect; and that gesture, though fleeting, had the strange effect of _endearing_ him more to her than his snobbish twin.

_Perhaps he's one I can trust._

She dismissed the idea just as soon as it had come to mind, realising that such a judgment was _far _too premature.

_Still—he _did _offer Leif that fan._

She frowned behind her own fan, and flapped it more rapidly against her heated face.

_And _he _saved you from the duke's men before later attempting to _**cut your head off**_. _

Her frown deepened.

_Kindness is merely a means to an end for these people._

She moved on to the carriage they shared the wide, stone path with, and assessed—as subtly as she could—the other three (whose names she was already forgetting).

"The brown-haired one is Kristian," Anders said suddenly, "the red-haired one Tor, and the blonde Adrian." His small smile returned as she stared at him in surprise. "I thought I saw confusion in your look, Your Majesty," he explained. "Forgive me for being presumptuous."

_So they're watching _me_ in the same way, _she mused, and paused in her fanning, placing the instrument in her lap with a matching, tiny smile.

"Your instincts were correct—and I thank you for the reminder, Prince Anders."

Ivar's lip curled ever-so-slightly in irritation at this exchange, but Elsa ignored him, turning her gaze instead to the wide-open countryside surrounding them, green as far as the eye could see with bright flowers scattered throughout the fields. It reminded her of the forests at the foot of the mountains in Arendelle, but it had a fragrance about it—an _aroma_—that intoxicatingly filled the humid air.

"It's beautiful," she said gently, and closed her eyes when a breeze came by, the scent filling her senses.

"But _hot_," added Kristian from the other carriage, and she looked up, taken aback by the comment.

He grinned sheepishly at her. "_Too _hot."

Tor—the moody one from earlier, if Elsa was remembering it correctly—frowned at his brother.

"No one's laughing, Kristian," he remarked sourly. "So just be silent, for _once."_

**"Tor," **Adrian rebuked him with a glare, "you're in the presence of the _Queen."_

The young man went quiet again, though he sulked at being shut up. Adrian, likewise, seemed unhappy—no doubt because he had been sat with his brothers instead of next to the Queen he was so _blatantly _trying to charm.

She held back a smirk at the display, and her gaze returned to greet Anders's.

"If you don't mind me asking," she said inquisitively, "why _specifically_ were the five of you sent to greet me at port?"

Ivar answered before Anders had even opened his mouth to speak, obviously annoyed that the Queen had given his twin so much of her attention.

"Anders and I are the two top trade officials in the kingdom, and so it was natural for Their Majesties to call upon us for our services in this instance," he replied succinctly. "As for the others," he began with a frown (and Elsa somehow enjoyed seeing this rare display of emotion from him), "there are . . . _various _reasons."

Anders filled in the blanks. "Prince Adrian is here as a representative of the Royal Guard, as he mentioned," he said, "and—though it may not seem like it—Princes Kristian and Tor are serving on behalf of the Royal Navy and Army, respectively."

Elsa nodded, and suddenly—_undoubtedly—_she saw what they were trying to do.

_They want me to see that they're not like _him, she thought, just barely maintaining her placid expression. _That they're all dutifully employed at home, and have no intention of going off to foreign lands and attempting to conquer them and kill their princesses and _**queens**_—_

"And the other princes?" she asked, quelling the dizziness that had temporarily taken hold of her. "Will I be meeting them at the palace?"

Anders nodded. "Yes, Your Majesty, along with the King and Queen."

She smiled rigidly.

"Good. I'm looking forward to that."

Leif sent her a quizzical look from the side, but she didn't meet it.

She couldn't let these princes, _his _brothers, see even the _smallest _pressure point in her.

They sat for the remainder of the journey in silence, and she was determined to enjoy the quiet while it lasted, taking in the sights. Soon enough, they were near the city limits, but the carriages didn't pause as they neared the gates, since the guardsmen had been notified well in advance of Queen Elsa's arrival and were already raising them.

As the carriages proceeded onto the main, bumpier street of the capitol, Elsa found it more difficult to maintain a pleasant look; the cheering, long lines of people lining the road, however, made it impossible for her not to at least _try_.

"They knew we would be arriving today, even with the delay?" Leif asked curiously, smiling on-and-off at the crowds.

"Prince Kristian made a correct estimate of your arrival date based on his observations out at sea a few days ago," Ivar answered disinterestedly. "Their Majesties thus timed the welcoming festivities according to his prediction."

Leif looked mildly impressed by this. "He is the one in the Navy, yes?"

"Correct," Ivar said dryly, looking out impassively onto the throngs of people.

The prince's tone, if nothing else, ended the conversation at that point.

Elsa had been too busy trying to absorb the look of the city to pay much attention to the exchange, her eyes distracted by all the colourful shop stalls and welcome banners they hung in her honour, and her nose by the multitude of (mostly) good smells which emanated from them. The capitol seemed so different from Arendelle's, and yet _not_ all at once: the style of dress was lighter and looser with brighter colours on account of the hotter weather, but the people looked fundamentally similar. The architecture of the buildings was likewise not so different from home, though everything seemed far more cramped and pushed together than in the spacious, quaint villages she was accustomed to seeing in her own kingdom.

_I'm sure it only makes it _hotter_ than it already is, _she thought, noting how drenched most of the people looked, even in their thin clothes.

The princes in their carriages, too—indomitable to the heat as they had made themselves appear, at first—were all beginning to look _extremely _uncomfortable with the higher temperature inside the city walls, though all refused to be the first to take out their fans.

She cooled her skin just enough not to raise suspicion from the other passengers, affixing a diplomatic smile in place just in time to greet the last of the crowds en route to the palace.

Her eyes widened as she set her eyes on it from afar, unable to help but admire the structure.

It was nestled atop a verdant hill overlooking the city below, a smooth, paved path leading to its gates, and its exterior was constructed of an equally smooth, beautiful white stone, the colour nearly blinding her under the clear, cloudless sky above.

_It's so . . . _clean _compared to the town._

She supposed that shouldn't have surprised her, knowing what little she did about the Isles and their history. From the books she had read and from her own experience with _certain_ residents, it seemed appropriate that those polished, brazenly bright walls could—and probably _did_—hide dark secrets within them.

_They say that she—that she _killed_ someone close to her: a brother, sister . . . even her _mother or father.

She clenched her jaw to keep from shuddering as they passed through the gates, and as they reached the shadow of the castle, her heart _thumped_ with dread.

"Your Majesty," Ivar interrupted her anxious thoughts, holding out his hand, "we've arrived."

She blinked at him before realising that the carriage had stopped.

_When did _that _happen?_

She looked up to take in the sight of the impossibly high ceiling above the main entrance, and found herself wondering how men could have gotten up there and built the structure (not to mention how they had managed to attach the fabulously sparkling, ornate glass chandelier which hung from it); and as her eyes travelled the length of the room, she marvelled at its wide expanse, and speculated, distractedly, on just how far down the hallways on either side of her extended.

Nonetheless, Elsa soon returned to form and took the prince's gloved hand without another second's hesitation, stepping down as gracefully as was expected of her. From there, he allowed Leif to take over, and she gratefully glanced at her adviser, who nodded tiredly in return, too worn out from the heat to say anything.

_I guess this power _does_ come in handy from time to time, _she thought as she chilled herself again, tucking her arm gently in his.

She glanced to the side to see, with relief, that the others had made it to the castle safely as well, and she noted—with faint amusement—that the three brothers travelling in the other carriage all looked close to collapsing as a result of their stubbornness.

_Serves them right._

By comparison, Gerda and her other ladies-in-waiting seemed to be coping as best as they could, though thankfully, Elsa's guardsmen had shooed them away from the incoming luggage, insisting that the women take a breather. And although Gerda had protested this at first, she was soon too preoccupied with gawking at the palace—along with the other girls—to put up much of a fight.

Elsa only allowed herself the briefest glimpses of her surroundings as her back straightened, determined to appear as regal and poised as possible before she met the _rest _of the ruling family. She similarly set her expression into a stoic façade as she and Leif proceeded to meet Anders in the centre of the hall, ignoring the hustle and bustle about them.

"Your Majesty—if you'll follow me," he said politely, and gestured ahead, "I will show you to the King and Queen."

She just barely suppressed a grin as she nodded in courteous understanding.

_So one of the twins gets to meet me at the ship, and the other gets to introduce me to the King and Queen? _She glanced at Anders at her right side, but made sure not to look too long. _Perhaps he didn't draw the short straw after all._

It wasn't a long walk before they reached the grand, oaken doors to the throne room, and in fact, Elsa found herself biting back a frown, since she'd hardly had the time she'd been _hoping_ for to prepare herself for that moment.

_I thought it would take at _least _five minutes._

She looked down briefly in surprise when she felt a soft squeeze on her arm from Leif—and she realized, with some dismay, that her hands were _ice cold_ within the gloves.

He sent her a reassuring look, but it was a hard one, and suddenly Elsa was glad that she had chosen him, of all her advisers, to accompany her exclusively on this trip. He wasn't the _easiest_ man to get along with—nor the most compromising, when he really believed in doing things a certain way—but he had a _conviction_ about his every action and gesture which she strove to imitate under such trying circumstances.

And in that moment, as the guards opened the doors and revealed the entire court of the Southern Isles filling the sides of the room—and King Oskar, Queen Therese, and the rest of the princes at the head—she was more thankful than ever for Leif's heavy arm secured around hers.

_Lend me your strength._

**"Your Royal Majesties," **Prince Anders declared in a booming tone, **"it is my honour to present to you: Queen Elsa of Arendelle!"**

A chorus of cheers and claps from the surrounding courtiers accompanied this announcement, and Elsa gently withdrew her arm from her councillor's, taking a few paces forward to stand alone, silent and proud, in the middle of the long, dark blue carpet leading to the King and Queen, now standing from their thrones to greet her.

Her ice-blue eyes set in a steely fashion on the front of the room, and she wore a cool, tactful smile.

_Conceal, don't feel._

In spite of its ignominious origins, it seemed that that particular mantra _did _have the unique effect of calming her down; and as she automatically slid her hand primly into Anders's, it repeated itself over and over again in her head until she felt the corners of her lips begin to _stiffen_.

_Conceal, don't feel. _

_Conceal, don't feel. _

_Conceal, don't _**fee**_—_

"Your Majesty."

She locked stares with the Queen—and the Queen's eyes, they were . . .

His _eyes._

She held back a shudder.

_His _emerald _eyes._

She wore a long, ceremonial white gown with natural motifs of flowers and leaves embroidered throughout with a pale green thread, and the light colours were a stark contrast to her burnished, almost _glittering _auburn hair. It was collected neatly behind her head in a large, complex, braided bun, but Elsa supposed, when unbound, that it could swallow the world whole.

The woman and her husband curtsied and bowed deeply, and at length—deeper and longer, she guessed, than they would have done for any other visiting monarch—and Elsa repaid the gesture, though for a far shorter time . . . and in a far shallower manner.

"Your Majesties," she returned, looking between the two, "thank you for receiving me."

The King bowed again, and the Queen nodded. "It is our honour to receive you, Your Majesty," he said in a gravelly voice, "and we are so very grateful for your visit."

The King was dressed in much the same outfit as his sons, though with a few more flourishes—some military ribbons and medallions pinned to his chest here, a gold watch and crown there—but he did not cut anywhere _near_ as striking a figure as his much younger wife, his advanced age clearly showing in his wrinkled, tired, and sallow features.

Nevertheless, there was a genuineness to his gratitude that she had not detected in some of the other members of the royal family with whom she'd had the _pleasure _of meeting so far (the Princes Ivar and Tor came to mind), and Elsa couldn't help but appreciate it.

She nodded to the King, her lips relaxing. "I apologise for my delay in arriving."

The Queen answered this time, and her voice was smooth—_dulcet, _even—in comparison to her husband's.

"We feared you might be late in coming after our son, Prince Kristian, returned with the report on the turbulent sea," she said sympathetically, nodding in Kristian's direction, "so it is _we _who should apologise for the delay, Your Majesty—not _you."_

Elsa smiled a little at this remark—whether because she had to for propriety's sake, or because she was entertained by the farcicalness of the entire exchange, she wasn't sure—and her eyes betrayed a hint of mirth.

"Neither of us can control the weather, Your Majesty," she quipped lightly. "We can only be thankful when it does not prevent us from reaching our destinations."

The Queen's eyes gleamed with unbidden interest, and Elsa's hands tensed.

_Those eyes. _His _eyes._

"You're quite right, Your Majesty," she said, "and so I am thankful that through storm, wind, and rain, you have arrived safely at our door." She glanced briefly behind Elsa. "And who, may I ask, is this fine gentleman accompanying you?"

Elsa gestured for Leif to draw closer. "This is Sir Leif of Arendelle," she introduced civilly. "He is here to advise me on all official matters which we may discuss during this visit."

Leif bowed, and he seemed genuinely taken in by the beauty of the Queen.

"Your Majesties," he said, and his voice rumbled in his chest.

The King and Queen nodded in a friendly manner. "Sir Leif," she acknowledged with a small smile, though her look suddenly grew serious, and—upon seeing the change in mood—the King likewise shifted entirely in countenance, and bowed his head gravely.

"Before we can proceed any further, Your Majesty, I'm afraid there is something we _must_ address."

Elsa's heart clenched.

_Him. They have to address _him, _don't they?_

"It is, of course, the matter of our son—the traitor Hans, formerly a Prince of these Southern Isles—and the grievous wrongs which he committed against you, your family, and your great country of Arendelle," the Queen recited, the speech practiced but oddly heartfelt. She paused for effect before continuing, and finally met Elsa's detached gaze. "As you know, Your Majesty," she spoke slowly, giving each word due weight, "the traitor's crimes were such that, under our laws, the punishment would have been a lifetime of imprisonment in the palace dungeons.

_However," _she continued—and Elsa noticed, interestedly, that there was the smallest hint of . . . _respect? _in the Queen's eyes, "we received a request from Her Majesty, Queen Elsa of Arendelle, to alter the sentence to exile and hard labour, and so the traitor was sent to Vollan Island, our kingdom's harshest penal camp, to live out the rest of his days in respect of the Queen's wishes."

Elsa remained rigid and watchful as the King picked up where his wife left off—_did they practice this? They must have, _she guessed—though he did not raise his eyes to hers as the Queen had.

"And as we have communicated in our correspondence with you, Your Majesty," he said austerely, "the traitor remains on that island at present, with no opportunity for escape or vengeance. Therefore," he concluded with a heavy voice, "while we cannot _ever_ hope to make up for his crimes against you and your people, we hope that you may at least rest assured that he does not pose _any_ threat to you during your stay here—and that, unlike the traitor, we harbour _no_ ill intentions towards you, nor would we dare to disrespect or cause you discomfort in any way."

She bowed her head lightly at this reassurance. "I thank you for that, Your Majesties," she acknowledged, "and I hope that, during my visit, we may be able to move past this and build a better future together."

The reply brought with it rousing applause from the surrounding crowds, and the Queen looked suitably impressed as well, curtsying in thanks.

_Not that I care what _she _thinks, _Elsa thought stubbornly, plastering on a polite smile.

_She's just _his _mother, after all._

"And so we shall strive to make this visit as productive and enjoyable for you as we can, Your Majesty," she returned with her own smile—a charming one, albeit with shades of _grey_. "I hope you'll find that we've provided you with a full schedule whilst you are here, with no time left to linger on the past."

Elsa only managed a nod at this, for although the remark was meant to be good-spirited—and, indeed, the Queen's tone had been unusually inspired in delivering it—there was something about it that made Elsa's stomach _turn._

_. . . with no time left to _linger_ on the past_.

It sounded so foreboding, when she it replayed in her mind—almost like a _warning._

_Don't mention it, Your Majesty—don't even _think _about it. _

Her lips pursed in unease.

_The past is in the past._

"Please, let me formally introduce our sons to you, Your Majesty," the King cut through her thoughts, guiding her to the line of men standing by the Queen. "First is our oldest, Prince Magnus, General of the Royal Army of the Southern Isles and a member of my Council."

Magnus bowed stiffly.

"Your Majesty," he said quietly.

_Light brown hair. Blue eyes. Bearded. Tall. Serious-looking._

She nodded.

_We shouldn't _linger, _Elsa._

"Next is our second-oldest, Prince Fredrik, Captain of the Royal Guard."

Fredrik bowed, and his eyes looked sharply down on her.

"Pleasure."

_Dark blonde hair. Blue-green eyes. Taller than Magnus. Clean, but arrogant-looking. Possibly _. . . illegitimate_._

She nodded.

_You may rest assured, Your Majesty, that he does not pose any _threat_ to you during your stay here._

"Third and fourth here are Princes Ivar and Anders, our kingdom's two best diplomats and also two of my brightest councillors—you've been acquainted with them already, I believe?"

"Yes," she replied, and she wondered if she was smiling like she was supposed to be as the Princes bowed in unison.

_He can't hurt you; don't be _troubled.

"Fifth is Prince Mathias, a captain in the Royal Army where he serves alongside his brother, Magnus."

Mathias bowed, and his brow was dark.

"Your Majesty."

_Black hair. Brown eyes. Lightly bearded. Doesn't want to be here. Most _certainly _illegitimate._

She nodded.

_We harbour no _ill intentions_ towards you—we wouldn't _dare_ to cause you discomfort_.

"Our sixth is Prince Harald, who left us to live on Flakstad Island with his Annette," the King noted with some faux disappointment, a note of fondness in his voice.

"I didn't _leave _you, Father," Harald corrected him lightly, but there was a hint of a smile on his lips. He turned to Elsa with a bow. "Annette is my wife, Your Majesty. You will meet her later this evening, I'm sure."

_Brown hair. Hazel eyes. Shorter than the others; rounder, too. But also pleasanter._

She nodded, and was confident that she looked agreeable this time.

"I'd be happy to meet her."

_Why do they think I'm still so _afraid?

The King smiled at the exchange before moving on. "And again, you've met the seventh, Prince Kristian," he said, and patted his son's shoulder gently. "A very capable shipbuilder, though he's trained as a naval engineer."

Kristian reddened at the compliment, looking bashful. "Father, you'll make the others look bad if you tell the Queen that they only know _one _trade," he remarked, and glanced at Elsa with a grin, bowing. "Your Majesty."

Elsa observed the barely-held back (or, in some cases, fully on display) scowls of the other princes, though she hardly cared for their rivalries then.

_Do they think I'm _weak?

"My eighth and ninth are also twins—Princes Emil and Henrik," the King continued, and to these two he seemed the most partial thus far. "They're serving as the Royal Chaplains."

The two, like Ivar and Anders before them, bowed simultaneously.

"Your Majesty," they said at the same time, earning some sniggers from up and down the line.

_Dark brown hair. Blue eyes. Tall, pretty. Clean-cut. Their father's spitting image(s). Likely popular with girls at court._

She nodded to both in turn.

_Leave it behind, Elsa. Don't try and _stir up _bad memories._

The King sounded tired by this point, and after nine sons, Elsa couldn't blame him.

"You've met our tenth," he said, "Prince Adrian, in the Royal Guard alongside Fredrik."

Adrian bowed deeply—again, the deepest of _any_ of his brothers—and his eyes were just as arresting as before.

"Your Majesty," he said, and looked as if he were fighting the urge to take her hand and kiss it (as she was sure he was wont to do).

_Again, _definitely _illegitimate._

This time, there was no hint of a blush in her cheeks.

"Sir," she replied, though her mind was elsewhere.

_There's no need to _worry _yourself over it._

"And, finally," the King concluded, "Princes Tor and Johannes, Army private and Naval officer, respectively."

Johannes looked offended at the King's sudden foregoing of individual introductions—or perhaps he was more upset at being lumped in with Tor, whose listless expression showed no sign of caring one way or the other about how he was being introduced nor _who_ was doing the introducing—but he bowed nonetheless.

"Your Majesty," he ground out, annoyance lacing his tone, and he elbowed Tor, who bowed and mumbled something—probably "Your Majesty," too, but she couldn't be sure—under his breath.

_The self-centred one with blonde hair and brown eyes . . . probably illegitimate, too._

She nodded again to both, but said nothing.

_What's done is _done, _Your Majesty. _

Her jaw locked.

_Then why doesn't it _feel _that way?_

"_Well, _now that's settled," the Queen suddenly cut in, directing Elsa's attention away from the end of the line with a thinly-concealed glare at her youngest sons, "how about we continue with a tour of the palace? That will give the servants plenty of time to set up your accommodations in the meantime. Ivar, Anders, if you would," she gestured for the twins to come over, "join us at the lead. Fredrik, Adrian, direct the Royal Guard accordingly. And as for the _rest_ of you," she said, a slight edge to her tone, "please, follow us through to the—"

**"Wait."**

_Why are you always so _afraid?

The Queen and King and all their sons stared; the courtiers stared; _everyone _stared.

What_ are you afraid of?_

"I—Your Majesties," she began, though her throat felt as if it were closing, "I have a . . . _request_ to make, if you would allow it."

_What are you _doing, _Your Majesty?_

The Queen raised a curious, auburn eyebrow, and the King his grey one.

"Anything, Your Majesty," he said after a moment, and she swallowed.

_Don't you understand, Elsa? What's done is _done.

"I—"

_What are you _thinking?

"I . . . I would like to—"

_What are you _saying?

"—formally request—"

_Stop this, Elsa. Stop this _now.

"—that the traitor, formerly Prince Hans—"

_The bad memories, Elsa, don't you remember how _bad _they were—_

"—be permitted to return to Strande Island—"

_The sword, the swing, the blizzard, his _**grin**_—_

"—for the duration of my visit to the Southern Isles."

A flurry of gasps, and then silence.

Deep, heavy, _silence._

_If only there was someone out there who loved you, _Elsa.

The King was the first to speak, and even then, his voice was hushed in shock.

"But—but—_Your Majesty, _I don't understand . . ."

Elsa stood straight as an arrow, her hairs on end.

"If he remains in exile during my visit," she said coolly, hardly aware that her hands had gone numb, "then I believe it will have been a missed opportunity to _fully _come to terms with the past."

Never _give in, Elsa._

Her lip trembled, but only for a second. "I believe it is _imperative _that he return—not only so that I may see that he has understood his misdeeds and is contrite for them, but also—" she paused, and looked straight at the Queen, "but also so that I may _personally _be able to put his actions behind me, and move forward with confidence."

_I'm _not_ afraid._

She was conscious enough to pause the trails of ice that travelled up the lengths of her arms beneath the dress, and to hold the Queen's stare all the while in the choking silence.

"I understand your wishes, Your Majesty, truly I do," the King broke in finally, his expression distraught, "but I really _must_ dissuade you from this idea. It may prove unwise . . ."

The flame-haired woman softly glided over until she was by her old husband's side again; once there, she pressed his decrepit hand expertly in hers, and he gazed at her as if for guidance, trailing off mid-sentence. She sent him a reassuring smile back, and her thumb traced a slow circle over his gloved hand.

And it was there, in that tiny circle, that Elsa saw her influence for the first time—her real, palpable _power—_and it made her shudder.

"Forgive us, Your Majesty," she said in her most humble of tones, "for we do not mean to question your motives, nor to deny _any _request that you should make at court."

Her gaze tightened in concern, but Elsa detected something else behind it—a hidden nod of acknowledgment, perhaps, that she wished for Elsa to dissuade them from dissuading _her. _

"But my husband, the King, expresses, I think, the concerns of _all _of us here today that this _particular _request may cause you undue distress."

_Let sleeping dogs _lie,_ Your Majesty._

Elsa's eyes never dropped from hers. "And I respect those concerns wholeheartedly," she said, though she doubted her own sincerity. "But I must make this unreasonable request of you all nonetheless, to put my own mind at ease."

_I won't live in fear of _him.

Thick, impenetrable, _silence._

"We understand," the King said after a time, but his disappointment was profound. "And we will comply with your wishes, to the best of our abilities."

Elsa's smile was thin.

"Thank you, Your Majesties," she said, "and I trust that, when the traitor is returned to the main island," she added, "he will be kept under constant supervision—not only in my presence, but at _all_ other times as well."

The Queen's look was sobering. "We would not _dream _of allowing him to set foot in the palace under any other circumstances."

Elsa nodded, and this time, her curtsy was deep—and _long._

"Thank you," she replied, and her blue eyes finally closed.

_I'm not afraid of you, _**Hans**.


	6. Chapter 5: The Chair

**Author's Note:** A slightly shorter chapter for you guys. More talking to princes. Plus prince family drama! And a lot of Elsa agonising over her decision about a certain exiled thirteenth brother. So, you know … the usual. I also wanted to note that some of the italicised lines of Elsa's internal monologue do not always represent direct quotes of other characters from earlier chapters - rather, they are more like what she _thinks _she remembers them saying, or _imagines _them as having said, as we can all be quite unreliable narrators in our own stories, I believe (thanks to The Wayfaring Strangers for pointing this out!).

I'm curious to see what you guys think about the princes and the King and Queen, so let me know in the reviews.

* * *

**Chapter 5: The Chair**

Gerda prepared Elsa for the first welcoming banquet and ball in silence for a while before she spoke.

"You know, Your Majesty," she began slowly, and a single, questioning eyebrow arose on her tired features, "when I said you should 'face this without fear,' I didn't think you'd take my suggestion quite this . . . _far."_

Elsa's eyes sunk at the remark, and she held in a sigh.

"It's not—" she began hesitantly, and rested her arms on the dresser in front of her. "It's just something I _had_ to do."

Gerda frowned at the reply—it was probably too short and too _vague_ for her liking—but the displeased expression didn't last, and the older woman sighed deeply as she pinned the last strands of her queen's white hair into the large, ceremonial bun she had crafted.

She patted Elsa's shoulders gently. "Perhaps it is, Your Majesty," she said resignedly, "but I can't help but feel _nervous_ about him being near you again."

Elsa looked at Gerda in the mirror. "I know—and it's not as if _I'm_ not nervous, myself," she admitted, and lightly touched the woman's hand in assurance. "But I . . . I don't want to be _afraid_ anymore."

Her gaze hardened.

"I _can't _be afraid anymore."

Gerda merely nodded at this before glancing around the room, her frown returning.

"Still, to put you in that _scoundrel's _old quarters! I know it's meant as some sort of . . . _insult_ to him, but it just seems so—so—"

Elsa pressed her hand again, though a frown touched her own lips at the reminder.

"I know, and frankly," she said, her brow furrowed, "I don't really like the arrangement myself." She sighed after a moment. "But in _their_ eyes," she continued, "they see it as a gesture of friendship, I suppose."

_More like an appeal to my vanity_, _or at least what they _think _my "vanity" even _is, Elsa thought, her lips pursed in irritation.

Gerda huffed at the idea. "Funny way of showing 'friendship,'" she remarked as she gestured for Elsa to stand again so she could dress her in the dark blue gown selected for the evening. "More like rubbing salt in the wound, if you ask _me."_

Elsa's gaze wandered up and around the room at this comment, distracting herself from Gerda's fussing over her appearance (which had become worse on account of her annoyed state); and upon inspecting the quarters again, she recalled how she had come to learn who their former occupant had been with narrowing eyes.

—_four hours earlier_—

"Ah, here we are!"

Elsa looked ahead to where the Queen gestured, and summoned up just enough energy to look curious.

She, Leif, Gerda and the other girls had been on a tour of the palace for over two hours by then, and she truthfully had little patience left after visiting everywhere from the kitchens to the servants' quarters to the _fourth_ drawing room to the massive library and attached study chamber.

_Did we really_ _have to see _all _of that?_

It didn't help that she felt somewhat queasy—or at least _unsettled_—after her little "display" in the throne room earlier, since nearly every other thought which had come to her mind since then had been one of panicked squawking to take back her request for the traitor's return.

_But what's done is done . . . isn't it?_

"These are your quarters, Your Majesty," the Queen continued as two guards posted themselves on either side of the doors. "As you can see, you're quite close to mine and the King's residence, so should you need to speak with one or _both_ of us," she went on pleasantly, "you may do so at any time quite easily." She waved behind her towards two other doors down the hall opposite from them. "Of course, Fredrik and Adrian live close by as well."

Adrian bowed lightly by Elsa's side. "And we will be _just _as ready to be of assistance to you, Your Grace, should you need anything at all."

Elsa nodded, though she was too exhausted—from the boat ride, her previous illness, the introductions and her . . . well, her _surprising _request—to be flattered by his chivalrous words.

"Thank you, Prince Adrian," she managed before turning her attention back to the bedroom ahead of her, a hopeful thought suddenly striking her.

_Perhaps this will be the end of the tour?_

She trotted forward more quickly than before at this idea, able to push from her mind, if only for a moment, the nagging feeling that everything she had done since she'd arrived in the Isles had been _terribly_ misguided.

"Oh—Your Majesty," the Queen stopped her suddenly, and gestured for the guards, likewise, to wait. "There's something we should make you . . . _aware_ of before we show you into your rooms and end the tour."

Elsa wasn't sure whether to feel relieved that, indeed, the tour _was _finishing—or to feel apprehensive at the warning tone with which this bit of news had been delivered.

She opted for the latter, not wanting to offend her hosts. "What is it, Your Majesties?"

The King and Queen exchanged a brief look—and, just as before, Elsa found it hard to interpret—and the King spoke finally, after having been silent for most of the proceedings since the initial introductions.

"You see, Your Majesty," he started tentatively, making Elsa's brow twitch in worry, "this room, it . . . it used to belong to Pri—the _traitor _formerly known as Prince Hans."

She could feel the ice in her fingers—the _fear. _

Or was it _anger?_

"This is not meant as any sort of _offence_ to Your Majesty," he explained quickly, likely feeling the temperature of the air around them drop, "but, rather, as a token of our goodwill to you—that you should take this room now as Queen, where the traitor once plotted to overthrow you, and be assured that he will never again occupy such a place of honour in this house."

He fidgeted nervously as he went on. "Of course, we did not expect that you would ask us to—to have him _return _during your visit, but . . ."

Elsa wondered if she should have been touched by this explanation—or, perhaps, _pleased _by the gesture—and if she hadn't _just _taken the entire court of the Isles and its ruling family by shock with her **ridiculous** demand, it might all have been easier to swallow.

_Of all the rooms in the palace . . ._

Things being as they were, though, the atmosphere was tenser than ever as the King trailed off, leaving his nimbler wife to pick up the pieces of the conversation.

"We hope you can still accept these arrangements, Your Majesty, as the room has been completely altered from its previous state," she said gently, "however, if you do not find it to your liking, please be assured that we would be _happy_ to give you a different one elsewhere."

She could have sworn she saw a flash of judgment streak across the Queen's solid gaze—a brief but definitive _challenge_ in her green eyes—and it made her swallow imperceptibly. Even if Elsa was wrong and had seen nothing on the woman's face, the sentiment she _thought _she had seen somehow struck a chord within her.

_They're right_—_he doesn't have _power_ over me anymore. _

"I'm sure it will be fine," she said finally, her throat dry. "But thank you for your concern."

The King and Queen nodded at this, and Elsa met the Queen's eyes briefly—only this time, she was _sure_ she had seen a quick, approving smile grace the woman's lips.

"We're glad to hear it," the Queen returned with a small bow of her head, and gestured for the guards to open the doors fully. "And you'll find that your luggage has already been brought in and laid out in accordance with your lady-in-waiting's instructions," she nodded to Gerda at the back, who reddened and curtsied.

The King added to this in an almost absentminded way: "Oh, and Sir Leif, of course, will be housed just next door to you, Your Majesty."

Leif nodded at this, but barely. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the older man brooding with discontent, just as he had been doing since her surprise "announcement" a few hours earlier. Now, with the knowledge of the room's history, his look had only darkened—and she supposed, with a mental sigh, that she would have to _attempt _to explain herself to him at some point (though she doubted he would be amenable to any of her reasons for acting without consulting him or the Council first).

As she entered the room with the King and Queen—the accompanying princes having stayed behind in the hall out of propriety—she was slightly surprised to find that, in fact, there was nothing about the place to indicate that it had ever belonged to a man, much less to a _prince. _Rather, the decorations had been, just as the Queen said, wholly altered to resemble a lavish, royal guestroom of the sort Elsa was accustomed to staying in during her infrequent visits abroad.

A few personal details had even been added to make her feel more at home—paintings with scenes of the mountains and sea in Arendelle, an ice-blue throw across the bed with snow motifs stitched into it, pennants hanging from the bedposts with her kingdom's green and purple beneath golden crocuses shining brightly—and while she could objectively appreciate these embellishments, she still felt troubled by the mere fact that they were there to _cover up_ whatever had preceded them.

_There's no time to _linger _on the past, Your Majesty._

It almost felt, in a way, as if they were trying to erase their thirteenth son's very _existence _from the palace; and that notion troubled her, and reminded her of closed doors, disappointed faces, Anna's tears, _conceal, don't _**feel**_—_

"Well, we'll leave you to your rooms," the Queen said, and clapped her hands together. "Fredrik and Adrian will come before dinner to escort you and Sir Leif to the banquet hall. Until then, please take some rest, Your Majesty. It's been a long day for you, after all."

"And should you need anything," the King added, and he suddenly looked _very_ old and weary, "there will be guards and servants posted outside your door at all times."

Elsa bowed her head in thanks. "I'm grateful for your hospitality, Your Majesties," she said softly, "and I look forward to seeing you all again at dinner."

The King and Queen left, finally, at this; and as soon as the doors had shut behind Gerda and the other ladies, Leif retiring to his own room (but not before shooting his queen a thick, disapproving frown), Elsa practically collapsed onto the sprawling bed, and her blue eyes closed.

_This is going to be a _long _night._

* * *

By the time the doors to her room opened, revealing her princely escorts outside, Elsa had arrived at the unlikely conclusion that she should feel a peculiar sense of _pride _in her unusual lodgings—or, at least, that she should not be _offended _by them.

_After all, _she mused with a placid façade, _this room used to belong to one of their _beloved_ sons_—_and now it is _mine.

Of course, she had no idea how "beloved" Hans had been by his parents, let alone among his brood of brothers; still, it seemed to her that, more and more, her staying in his old quarters was, at least _symbolically,_ a gesture on the part of his family that she, too, should feel like one of their own . . . for the time being, anyway.

She doubted, though, that she could ever _truly_ feel like a part of this strange family, no matter their effort. The circumstances were simply too bizarre to allow for such a sentiment to take hold of her—not to mention the promise of the youngest son's return.

She held back a grimace at that thought as Adrian approached her, offering his arm. He and Fredrik both had changed out of their blindingly white outfits from earlier into equally formal—but perhaps more stain-proof—dark blue suits with black jackets and black boots to match, though they wore different colour cravats (Adrian red, Fredrik a powder-blue).

"Your Majesty, you look . . . _stunning," _he complimented her, and she absently noted how much his smooth, sweet tone resembled his mother's as she smiled lightly.

"You're too kind," she said, taking his arm, and reminded herself not to let her eyes greet his for too long, remembering how _penetrating_ his gaze had been earlier.

_He's one to watch out for._

She instead looked to his brother, mindful to be diplomatic on all fronts.

"Prince Fredrik," she greeted with a nod, and he bowed back just as stiffly as before, his blue-green eyes—unlike Adrian's—cloudy and _sharp_.

"Your Majesty," he returned crisply. "Please, follow me."

Elsa glanced to her side where Leif stood, looking less moody than earlier—but still not entirely _pleased,_ of course.

"I trust you slept well, Leif?" she asked kindly.

He half-grunted in reply, his lip twitching with the beginnings of a frown. "I did, Your Grace."

She nodded, and her smile was genuine. "I'm glad to hear it," she said gently, though as she shifted her attention back to the prince on her arm and the one in front of her, her demeanour became guarded again. "Who will be at dinner?"

"Only the King and Queen and all of our brothers, Your Majesty," Adrian answered, not missing a beat. "But you'll have the opportunity to meet some of the Princes' families and other courtiers afterward, at the ball."

She couldn't help her curiosity at this comment. "Are many of you—the Princes—married?"

Adrian smiled indifferently at the question. "Well, Fredrik and I aren't, as you might have guessed," he remarked, and she saw—briefly—that his older brother tensed at the comment. "But Magnus, Ivar, Anders, Mathias and Harald all are."

Elsa tried to place the names to faces, her brow furrowing—_was Mathias the round one? Harald bearded? No, that doesn't sound right—_and Adrian chuckled a little at her consternated look.

"No need to worry, Queen Elsa," he reassured her. "There's too many of us to keep track of, after all."

She would have smiled more honestly at the joke had he not then squeezed her arm in such a _familiar _way; somehow, she knew that that light touch wasn't as innocent and good-natured as it might have been had it come from one of his older, _married _brothers.

She allowed herself a glance at him, though she immediately regretted it—for just as she had suspected, his beautiful eyes were watching her with intense interest in that same moment, and she turned away quickly, hiding her embarrassment.

Elsa swallowed. "Have they been married long?" she asked, trying to distract herself from the cold sensation creeping along her skin beneath the gloves.

_I hope he doesn't notice._

The young prince seemed slightly bored by the topic, though he hid this expertly.

"Magnus and Anders have been wed the longest—ten and seven years, respectively, if I remember correctly. As for the others, they've been married about four or five years." He went on as if reciting statistics from a book rather than describing his own family. "All have children, save for Harald and Annette—a curious thing, too, since they could easily afford to have some, given their _substantial _income."

A knowing look passed across his features at this last remark, though Elsa wasn't sure what he meant by it.

_Some family gossip that I don't need to concern myself with, probably._

"And the children, they—they must all be very young, then?" she asked, ignoring whatever he had been implying.

Adrian opened his mouth to reply, but Fredrik suddenly cut in—and his voice was thick with bitter cynicism.

"All under ten years," he said, "and all _girls." _He grinned coldly, though he didn't turn around to look at Elsa and his brother as he spoke. "A bit of a cosmic joke, it seems, on our _dear _mother."

She blinked in surprise, though she couldn't find the right words to reply. It was the way in which Fredrik had so _acridly_ spoken, she guessed, that left her short shrift.

Adrian glared ever-so-lightly at Fredrik's back before clearing his throat, his grip on Elsa briefly tightening.

"Yes, well," he said, plastering on a smile, "it's _unusual,_ I suppose, but they're all very nice girls."

Elsa felt, admittedly, a bit grateful for the change in tone, however forced. Still, she couldn't help but ask the next question that left her lips—in fact, it had been bothering her somewhat since the topic of the princes' families and children had been introduced.

"Is there any reason we won't be seeing them at dinner as well, along with their mothers?"

Whatever small improvement had been made in the atmosphere by Adrian's last comment disappeared again at this query; nonetheless, he made sure to answer first this time, shooting his older brother a warning look as he did.

"Well, you know how young children can be, Your Majesty," he said, trying to put on a good-natured look about it. "Mother—the _Queen—_thought that, given your long journey, you'd probably want to have a _quiet_ meal on your first night here."

She glanced at him at this explanation, and tried not to reveal toomuch of her disbelief.

_I somehow doubt_ _that's the _real_ reason._

More likely, she guessed, there was some more "drama" behind the scenes between the Queen, her sons, and their families; this much was apparent, anyway, from the blatantly affected smile that remained stiffly mortared to Prince Adrian's lips.

_I probably shouldn't pry more than I already have._

"Well, no matter," she said, leaving the issue behind with as much grace as she could. "I'll be happy to meet the girls regardless."

He looked a little relieved at this, and his grip on her arm relaxed.

"I think they'll take quite a liking to you, Your Majesty."

Her eyebrow piqued, curious. "Why do you say that?"

His smile widened, and his eyes glittered with amusement.

"Why, you're the Snow Queen of Arendelle, of course—you're practically a _legend_ to the children."

She stiffened.

_Why, you're the _Snow Queen_ of Arendelle, of course!_

"Is that so?" she breathed out after a moment, and she could _feel, _rather than see, the scowl behind her words. "I hope I don't _disappoint_ them, then."

_Monster . . . _**monster!**

Adrian's arm recoiled slightly as her skin temperature dropped a few degrees; she almost grinned smugly to herself at his reaction, her eyes narrowing.

"We're nearly there, Your Majesty," he said quickly, obviously sensing her agitation. "This is, I'm afraid, the one drawback to living in such an immense place," he added after a beat, trying to lighten the mood. "It takes much too long to get where you'd like to be." Looking at her with some curiosity, he continued: "Is the castle in Arendelle very large, as well?"

His question achieved the desired effect when Elsa's expression eased and her skin warmed. "Not anywhere near as large as this, no," she said, not unkindly, "but then, there's only my sister and I, along with my advisers," she nodded at Leif, "and the attendants, of course."

He looked somewhat ill-at-ease at the mention of Anna. "Ah, yes," he seemed eager to move on, "well, in that case, it makes sense, doesn't it? I mean, for yours to be smaller."

She found it odd, seeing the prince's awkwardness around the topic—especially considering he had previously been so skilfully weaving his way through their stilted small talk up to that point—but she supposed that, just as it made _her _feel uncomfortable to remember how her sister and the Southern Isles were connected, so, too, did it make even the smoothest of operators among the brothers lose his seemingly imperturbable nonchalance.

"Yes, I think so," she said, and purposely made her tone gentler than before, not wanting either of them to feel anxious when it was apparent that they were getting close to the banquet hall. She smiled with unusual artfulness. "I suppose you two are off-duty for the evening, then?"

Fredrik spoke again, but without the acidic edge from before. "Only until the end of dinner, Your Majesty," he informed her. "After that, we resume our responsibilities."

Adrian looked a little disappointed at the reminder. "Ah, yes," he sighed, "the work of the Royal Guard is never done." He winked at Elsa. "I'm sure you can relate, Your Grace."

She pinked at the sly look, fixing her stare on the doors to the banquet hall, now just ahead of them.

He pulled back his smirk a little as they slowed to a halt by the entrance. "Anyway, I hope that you're able to forget about your many obligations, if only for tonight," he said, and released her arm from his—only to bring her gloved hand to his lips for a soft kiss, his sea-green eyes never leaving hers.

She swallowed as she gingerly withdrew her hand from his, clasping it with the other in front of her.

_I _really _need to watch out for him._

Of the group of silent guards that had flanked her, Leif and the princes en route to the hall, two stood apart to open the doors. Elsa's back straightened as she trained her sights on the incredible room that was revealed, then—though she hardly had much time to appreciate the lavish surroundings, since her eyes quickly fell upon the one person whom she had already seen _far_ too much of since her arrival.

_Eyes as bright as emeralds._

It took her some effort to keep herself from staring too long at the Queen, and she scanned the rest of the faces standing at the table.

_I can't remember their names._

There was a sensation akin to panic that fluttered in her stomach, but it was brief.

_No, wait. I _do _remember. _

She kept her eyes from darting about the room too rapidly, allowing her icy blue stare to run over the princes, one after the other, as they stood, waiting for her to sit by the King and Queen. They seemed to be seated according to their ages, which made things _slightly _easier for her; still, it was difficult to recall them all perfectly.

_On the King's right side are chairs for Leif and I, and then Magnus, the oldest . . . next to him, a seat for Fredrik, I suppose . . . then Anders and Ivar, the twins . . . and then the dark-haired one—Matthew? Martin? I'm probably getting _that _wrong . . . the round one next—didn't Adrian mention him and his wife not having children? . . . there's the one who made all the jokes, Kristian, I think his name was . . . and now the pretty younger twins, whose names I've _also _somehow forgotten . . . a seat next for Adrian, I presume . . . then the moody one—Tor? I think that's right . . . and finally the self-absorbed, blonde-haired one—but I really can't think of his name, either . . . but wait, there's another chair beside him at the end, an _empty _chair—_

She paled.

His _chair._

She stood stock-still for a moment by her seat, frozen in place at the sight.

_Why do they still keep an empty_ _chair for _him?

"It's a **reminder**, Your Majesty."

She blinked, her heart skipping a beat at the Queen's sudden remark.

"A reminder?"

The Queen nodded sternly, her gaze stony.

"Yes. A reminder to our sons that, should they tarnish their country's honour—or _betray_ their family's trust—they will never be welcome at this table _again_."

The room was silent at this cold threat, and Elsa had the feeling that this wasn't the first time it had been uttered there.

She suppressed a shudder as her hands gripped each other tightly.

"I see," she said finally, and nodded to the attendant behind her as she finally sat down, her chair sliding comfortably under her. The King, Queen and their sons followed suit shortly after, and once seated, the King gestured drowsily to a servant by the side-doors leading to the kitchen to begin serving dinner.

_I guess he's still worn out from earlier, _she mused as a napkin was laid out in her lap and the first course—a kind of thin but extremely flavourful vegetable soup—was carried out by a procession of footmen to the table and laid in front of each occupant simultaneously.

Recognizing that, as the guest of honour, it was _she _whose actions decided when everyone else would begin eating, Elsa did not hesitate; it wasn't as if she wanted to draw out the process any longer than necessary, anyway, since the dinner had already gotten off to a rocky start.

_And I just want to get this over with._

But even as she quietly sipped her soup—and, for that matter, enjoyed its unique flavour to a degree she did not expect—the image of the empty chair at the end of the table nagged insidiously at the back of her mind.

_It's a _reminder, _Your Majesty._

The mere recollection of those harsh words was enough to cause her to suddenly find, as she brought the spoon to her mouth, that her soup had gone cold. She restrained her powers just enough to keep it from icing over completely, but she couldn't help the tiniest beginnings of a frown from forming on her lips.

"Is the soup not to your liking, Your Majesty?"

She reddened, embarrassed at being caught out.

_She really _is _watching me closely, isn't she?_

The idea perturbed her a little, though she tried not to show it. "No, quite the contrary," she assured her host, forcing her lip to curl back up. "It's delicious."

The Queen smiled coolly, though Elsa was certain that the woman had noticed—that she _knew—_that Elsa had lost control of herself, if only for a moment.

She only had to see, after all, that the steam previously rising from her guest's soup had disappeared entirely, and given what Elsa had already intuited about the Queen and her razor-sharp skills of observation, it was more than likely that she would have caught this sudden—but subtle—change.

_I can't let that happen again._

"I'm glad to hear it," she said in her unflappably confident way, "because there are several more courses on the way after this one, and, well," she continued with a small grin, "if you hadn't enjoyed the soup, I'm afraid you would not like what follows it, Your Majesty."

Elsa shook her head, and though she felt a little less nervous, she could not match the woman's merry look. "I'm sure I'll enjoy them all."

"Except the rabbit," Kristian interjected from down the table, drawing—as usual—all of his brothers' dirtiest looks, plus his parents'. "The cook always serves it overdone."

"It's _fine," _Magnus corrected, looking among the most irritated of the twelve with the comment. He turned to Elsa with a tight gaze. "Please ignore my younger brother, Your Majesty," he said loudly enough for Kristian to hear, "he always says such . . . _unnecessary _things."

"What? I was just telling her the truth," Kristian retorted, snorting in a very un-prince-like manner as his eldest brother glared daggers back at him. "Sorry—I meant I was just telling _Her Majesty _the truth," he amended, nodding at Elsa in acknowledgment.

She nodded back just slightly, but the Queen stared down at him in disapproval.

"That's enough, _both_ of you," she said, chiding them as if they were still children. She looked a bit embarrassed as she turned back to Elsa. "Please forgive my sons, Your Majesty," she implored her guest in much the same way—and at the same, _loud_ volume—that Magnus had before her. "They're grown men, and yet they still act like _boys _all too often."

"It's not as if you _treat _us like men," Tor remarked with a brooding look from the other end of the table, earning a sharp, brief—and, Elsa noted with apprehension, almost _terrifying—_scowl from his mother.

"Don't speak to your mother that way," the King cut in with a deep frown, taking Elsa off-guard.

Up until then, the older man had been content to eat his soup in silence, and she had wondered, actually, if he had been paying attention to anything going on around him.

_I guess he was._

The Queen pressed the King's hand gratefully as Tor huffed at the order, turning back to his soup with as dark an expression as ever.

_Strange to think how much Tor looks like _him_, _Elsa thought suddenly, _but how _differently_ he _acts.

She swallowed another spoonful of cold soup, holding back a grimace.

_If I keep thinking about him, _all _of my food is going to end up like this._

Despite the reminder, she couldn't help but dwell, at least for a moment, on how difficult it was to square the traitor's place in this large family of men and one, dominant woman.

_I can see some similarities, but at the same time . . . they all seem so—so _independent _from each other._

There were the exceptions, of course: Fredrik and Adrian were close, though she wasn't sure if that was as a result of some kind of brotherly "bond" between them or just their working together in the Royal Guard; likewise, the younger pair of twins—whose names she really couldn't _quite_ remember—had been inseparable during the tour of the palace earlier, talking quietly with each other and standing side-by-side throughout. She remembered thinking, particularly in the latter case, that it had seemed out of place—especially considering that everyone else (even the older twins, Ivar and Anders) only appeared to speak to each other out of necessity.

_But then I suppose that they live separate lives now, for the most part._

The courses changed and some quiet conversation started near her between the King and the younger twins—Emil and Henrik, she thought she had heard him call them—about the state of the Isles's textiles trade with Odens, a neighbouring kingdom to the south, with the occasional comments sprinkled in by some of the others.

She hardly paid any notice to the exchange, absorbed by her thoughts.

_How can they be so distant when they are all so _close_ in age?_

It bothered her to try and imagine how the brothers must have grown up together, bickering and playing and fighting, only to eventually end up like this—stone-faced, silent, and sitting across from each other at dinner without the slightest inclination to ask one another the simplest questions about their lives, families, and work.

_But what if they _didn't _grow up that way? What if—what if they were just as separate back then?_

The idea made her think of her own isolation from Anna, and how badly it had affected their relationship, and the notion that it could happen not just between two sisters—but between _thirteen _brothers—was almost too much to stomach.

_I really don't understand._

The rest of the dinner courses came and went in this same fashion, with Elsa relapsing into bouts of pensive silence between several attempts at starting a conversation with her on the King's part.

It wasn't as though she were _trying_ to be impolite; in fact, Elsa made sure to nod and comment accordingly as the King spoke at length about their plans for her visit to the city the next day, which particular shops the Queen patronised with her business, his older sons' favourite haunts from their younger days, the best local taverns . . . but she hardly remembered a thing after he'd finished, her mind too full, already, of every sort of troubled thought that one woman could possibly handle.

The Queen had been curiously quiet throughout her husband's enthusiastic, if slow, account of the city's sights to be toured, making only the occasional remark or addition here and there. It was a contrast not only to her chattiness during the palace tour (in which she had, on many occasions, interrupted Ivar and Anders—much to their annoyance), but also her forthrightness at that same dinner only a few courses earlier.

_Maybe she saw that I was uncomfortable._

Knowing how perceptive the Queen was, she guessed that this was the most likely explanation for the woman's sudden decision to sit comfortably in the background of the conversation, allowing the King to speak in his unhurried manner.

Nonetheless, when she compared this considerate, even _thoughtful _behaviour in comparison to the dark, twisted stories Kai had recounted to her, it all seemed very strange indeed.

She was particularly confused when she remembered Kai telling her how the Queen had "taken great pains over the course of her reign to ensure that the public's affections remain in her favour," since—when given the golden opportunity to make a flashy entrance before the large, public crowds awaiting Elsa at the main port, and thus show off in person just how powerful she was in the Isles to the newly-arrived Snow Queen—she had instead chosen to stay in the palace with the courtiers who supposedly hated her, allowing her sons to greet Elsa in her place.

_It just . . . doesn't make any _sense.

Her shoulders slumped a little in resignation as she finally sliced into her dessert—a fruit tart—and she was grateful that it was already cold.

* * *

"Your _Majesty."_

Leif was quick to slip in by Elsa's side as soon as the dinner had ended and the group had begun to make their way towards the ballroom, his voice low and dark.

Her skin prickled at his presence, though she didn't want to give any indication to the others that anything was amiss between them.

"Leif," she greeted him quietly, and made sure a smile was ever-present on her lips, "I'm sorry we didn't get to speak in private earlie—"

"It's _fine_, Queen Elsa," he cut in suddenly, though this hardly surprised her, since he often did so during Council meetings back in Arendelle, as well.

(Actually, the fact that he did—and that Elsa never even said a word against him for it—bothered Anna to no end on the rare occasions that she had sat in on the meetings, thinking that the man's assertiveness was disrespectful of her older sister, the _Queen_; and suddenly, Elsa was thankful that she had taken him with her, if only to spare Anna the irritation of seeing him on a daily basis.)

"I have to tell you, Your Majesty, that this whole . . . _situation _is making me incredibly uneasy," he continued in just above a whisper, staying closely by Elsa's side. He glanced around to make sure none of the brothers—or any of their guards—were listening in before going on. "First with your '_request' _in the throne room earlier, made without the sanction of your full Council or even, at least, _my _input," he pointed out, indignant, "and then you accepting this _ridiculous_ room arrangement—it's simply _irrational_ in every sense of the word."

Elsa's lips pursed at the accusatory nature of the remarks, and couldn't help but feel at least a _little _vexed with how bluntly he criticised her decisions.

_Then again, _she reminded herself, _he waited this long to voice his opinion—and he's making sure that only _I _can hear it._

That was the oddly comforting thing about having him there, she supposed; she knew that, even if he disapproved of nearly everything she did, he would never directly contradict her in front of potential allies.

_. . . or _adversaries_._

She shook her head a little at the thought, and touched Leif's arm gently once her anger had dissipated again.

"I'm sorry I didn't speak with you about it first, Leif—I know I should have," she whispered back, and was relieved to see his furrowed brow relax slightly, "and I also know that I should have thought this through more carefully before we arrived."

He said nothing, but she could feel his heavy gaze on her, and her cheeks heated.

"But I've said my piece, now—for good or ill, I don't know yet—and so I take _full_ responsibility for my actions and whatever the consequences of them might be." She stared at him with new determination in her blue eyes. "And I can't go back on it now—you _know _I can't," she said pointedly, and glanced quickly at the Queen. "Not with _her _watching my every move like a hawk."

His eyes followed hers to rest on the Queen a few paces ahead of them—and, thankfully, they were just as quick to return. There was understanding in his look, then—albeit a somewhat hard and _cold_ understanding—but Elsa thought, perhaps, that she had gotten through to him, if only a _bit._

"I never expected you to go back on your word," he admitted, "but I wanted you to realize just what you've gotten yourself—what you've gotten _all _of us—into, Your Majesty."

She swallowed, and a creeping, cold sensation crawled up her spine.

_I don't like this, Elsa. I don't like this at _all.

Elsa winced even _considering _what Anna would think of all her older sister's impulsive decisions so far in the Isles; somehow, it was much easier to bear Leif's harsh judgment than to entertain the mere _notion _of Anna ever finding out about what had happened. Knowing this, actually, she had been trying to avoid thinking about the consequences nearly all day.

_But I won't be able to ignore them when I'm face to face with _him _again._

She bit her lip briefly as her hands clasped together in front of her, trying not to fidget. She looked to her side at Leif, whose stare was planted ahead, as stoic as ever.

"Leif . . . we must keep this here. Between _us._"

He stared at her in shock before shifting his gaze back to the front. "You're asking me to keep the traitor's presence at court a secret from the Council?" he whispered back, and it sounded as if he didn't know whether to be furious or dumbfounded by the request.

She hedged. "Not a _secret, _per say, since I'm sure news of it will reach Arendelle soon enough on its own," she said, "but . . . yes. For now, I would prefer it if this were kept quiet."

His lips twitched with the traces of a deep scowl.

"Considering the current state of the seas between Arendelle and the Isles," he said reluctantly, "I'm not so sure they'll know of it before we return."

When she looked at him with gentle surprise at this comment, he added gruffly: "But that doesn't mean I condone _any _of this, Your Majesty." He pulled back the scowl with great difficulty, and added just under his breath:

"I'm sure that the Princess Regent, for one, would most certainly **not **take kindly to this . . . _revelation."_

Elsa's forehead wrinkled in frustration at the reminder of her sister.

"She didn't approve of me coming here in the _first_ place, Leif," she pointed out, her hands tensing around each other. "So it goes without saying that anything I've done _since_ then wouldn't be agreeable to her." After a moment, she added with a slight frown:

"_Especially _what happened earlier."

**"Your Majesty?"**

Her head nearly jerked up as she recognised the Queen's voice, and realised, with embarrassment, that she had entirely forgotten about the fact that they _were, _in fact, going somewhere after all that time.

The Queen smiled, as if to say _yes, I could see you were distracted, _but was smart enough not to raise the issue aloud.

"If you would follow the King and I," she said as the tall doors to the ballroom were opened, "I'll make the necessary introductions."

Elsa nodded at this, shoving down her agitation from the conversation with Leif.

"Thank you, Your Majesty."

The Queen nodded back before facing forward again, and she seemed to _glide _across the entrance, silencing the already crowded room of extended family members, dignitaries, and courtiers with her presence.

But all Elsa could see was her fiery hair—_like maple leaves in autumn_—burning a trail in her wake.


	7. Chapter 6: The Garden

**Author's Note: **This was originally going to be split into two chapters, but the first half is a whole lot of bowing and scraping and nasty barbed comments between the princes and their wives and kids, so I thought I should reward you guys for sticking through the muck of courtly exchanges with something juicier by the end. Honestly, though, all of these introductions _do _have a point - I'm not just doing it to torture you guys and kill time! - especially later on in the story. So that explains why it's so incredibly goddamn long. (Next time, you'll _finally_ be seeing a certain thirteenth son again.)

I loved hearing your thoughts on the Royal Family last chapter, so please drop me a line or leave a review on this one as well with more of your comments and insights. Cheers!

* * *

**Chapter 6: The Garden**

"Your Majesty—it's an _honour _to meet you in person, finally."

Elsa nodded politely as the woman before her curtsied deeply, and she tried not to betray her surprise.

"And you—you must be Annette," she said, thankful that her memory hadn't failed her. "The prince mentioned you earlier."

She blushed at the comment. "Oh, did he? My dear Harald—he's too sweet, really."

It had already been an hour since Elsa had made her impressive entrance after the Queen at the ball, her dark blue gown attracting some "ooh"'s and "ah"'s that would have made Anna grin, but it had also been, as she'd expected, a rather uncomfortable and dull affair.

Uncomfortable, on the one hand, because by the evening, word of her little "scene" in the throne room had spread like wildfire at court, and it was as plain as day that all the softly-moving lips were talking about _her;_ dull, on the other, because she had spent most of that hour keeping up the pretense of the regal visiting monarch to all the courtiers who introduced themselves, all while having to ignore the judgmental looks they were casting upon her.

She supposed it was her own fault for paying them any mind at all, and for taking the time to notice every mean look or comment made in the room—a consequence, she guessed, of her upbringing.

_I've spent too many years observing,_ _and not enough just . . . _being.

She glanced down at her gloved hands, and held back a frown. She knew such brooding would not help her get through the evening any quicker.

_But balls aren't really my . . . _thing_ in the first place, _she thought, somehow finding Anna's turn of phrase fitting for that situation. _But_ _at least no one's expecting me to _dance_ with them. _

Her lip quirked slightly upward in amusement.

_Anna wouldn't be so lucky._

In spite of her moody ruminations, she was pleasantly taken aback by the sudden introduction of Prince Harald's glowing wife—enough so, anyway, to distract her from her previously poor humour.

With wavy, long blonde hair worn down in a braid, stunning sky-blue eyes, fair skin, and an enviously lean physique, it was, perhaps, a curious thing that the woman had ended up with her stout husband. Seeing Harald's unabashed look of pride as he regarded his wife, however—and observing how he disregarded the mixture of jealous and suspicious stares of all the courtiers around them (including, she noted absently, his own brother, Prince Kristian, who stared sullenly at them from across the way while nursing a near-empty glass of wine)—Elsa was unexpectedly taken with the couple.

_He really loves her, it seems._

"Are you enjoying your time here so far, Your Majesty?" Annette asked, seeing the queen lost in her own thoughts.

Elsa smiled, trying to extricate herself from her ruminations.

"Yes," she said briefly, "everyone has been so . . . _accommodating_ since my arrival." She tried to smile wider, though she had a feeling the expression looked as fake as it felt. "Though I'm afraid I've already outstayed my welcome."

Annette tittered nervously at this remark, and her husband looked equally uncomfortable, shifting from one foot to the other.

"No, of course not, Your Majesty," he assured her after an awkward moment.

"That's _impossible," _Annette agreed, nodding vigorously.

The Queen of Arendelle stopped herself just short of rolling her eyes.

_Diplomacy, Elsa._

With that, she dutifully changed topics. "Prince Harald," she addressed him, forcing him to suddenly stand up straighter, "the King mentioned that you live outside of Strande?"

He looked relieved, his eyes brightening at the question. "I'm flattered that you would remember such a thing, Your Majesty," he said gently, and Elsa, admittedly, felt a little bad for creating the tense atmosphere earlier. "Yes, you're correct—we live on Flakstad, now."

Elsa's brow raised in curiosity. "Flakstad? Is that another one of the islands?"

The prince nodded. "Yes, Your Majesty. Only about a forty-minute boat ride from here, but a bit further south."

"And it's home to the second-largest port in the Isles," Annette added thoughtfully, "on account of all the . . . well, _affluent _families in residence there."

She seemed hesitant to use the more obvious words—_rich, wealthy—_and Elsa appreciated this modesty, finding it refreshing.

"I see," she said, and her hands, though gloved as always, relaxed at her side. "Was it very difficult, moving away from here?"

He smiled in turn. "Honestly, it wasn't—I'd just about had enough of palace life by then, anyway." Harald chuckled at the memory, and Elsa even smiled a little, finding the sound remarkably . . . _human. _"And besides," he added, and gripped Annette's hand tightly, "I much prefer Flakstad to Strande. No one bothers us there."

_They seem so . . . _normal.

"I'm sure my mother and father will take you there at some point, Your Majesty," Harald noted, "at which time we would be honoured to give you a tour of the island."

Elsa smiled. "I'd like tha—"

**"Oh, Your Majesty! **_**There **_**you are."**

She looked to her side, startled, as Ivar and Anders approached her with their wives and children following at a leisurely pace. She thought she caught, if only for a second, a flash of irritation cross Harald's gaze at being interrupted.

_Though it was probably bound to happen at _some _point, _Elsa thought, _since there are _twelve _of them._

"Ah, Prince Ivar, Prince Anders," she greeted both in turn, and they bowed.

"Your Majesty," Ivar made sure to put forth his family first, and Anders barely hid his displeasure with this, "allow me to introduce to you my wife, Lady Ingrid of the Edlunds, and our daughter, Karin."

Ingrid curtsied deeply and the young girl followed clumsily, earning an amused smile from the royal guest.

"Your Majesty," she said, casting her gaze down respectfully, "it's truly an honour."

Elsa bowed her head back as she regarded the mother and daughter pair with some interest, since they looked, with their mid-length golden blonde hair, pretty hazel eyes, round, cherubic faces and short statures, practically identical.

In fact, when her eyes flitted over to Anders—who, like his twin, had brought his wife and their only daughter, seemingly the same age as the other girl—she was slightly baffled to find that his ladies, too, looked _exactly _alike.

_I guess the wives' blood runs stronger than their husbands'._

The thought almost made her smirk, but she held it in as Anders approached next.

"And I am pleased to introduce my wife, Lady Mona of the Sandviks, and our daughter, Lene."

Lady Mona seemed, at least physically, the polar opposite of her sister-in-law: with long dark hair arranged in a braid, mysterious azure blue eyes, and a tall, sweeping, feminine form, she reminded Elsa of the princes' mother—and looked just as self-confident as she stepped forward, holding her identical little daughter's hand.

"Your Majesty," she curtsied, with Lene following far more gracefully than her cousin. Elsa noticed, as the child looked up, that her eyes were decidedly _greener _than her mother's.

"A pleasure," the queen said and nodded to both families before leaning down to meet the girls at eye-level, an unabashed grin tugging on her lips. "And how old are you both?"

The girls pinked at being so close to the Snow Queen, and both shyly shuffled their feet in front of them.

"We're—we're _four, _Your Highness," Karin squeaked after a moment, raising her eyes up just enough to look back into Elsa's blue ones.

"It's Your _Majesty, _Karin," Ivar corrected his daughter with a frown. "_Your Highness _is only for princes and princesses, remember?"

The girl reddened at the reminder, and Elsa was about to wave away the concern—but Ingrid did it for her first, looking irritated with her husband.

"Honestly, _darling," _she intoned with a glare, "it's fine. She's still learning, after all."

Contrary to what Elsa expected, Ivar was silent at this, displaying none of the arrogance she had seen from him earlier. The deference to his wife was enough to make her smile wider, though she played it off as a warm gesture to the children.

"Four? Why, you're nearly young ladies, now!" she exclaimed lightly, and the girls giggled.

"We only _just _turned four," Lene clarified before adding, primly: "Your _Majesty."_

Elsa giggled at the add-on. "Oh, I see."

Karin craned her head curiously at the queen, her hazel eyes wide.

"Can you show us your magic, Your Majesty?"

"Oh, yes!" Lene clapped her hands together excitedly, suddenly dropping her proper façade. "We'd really love to see it, _please!"_

All six of the surrounding adults froze at this question—and even Elsa, admittedly, stared back into their matching pairs of gleaming eyes with some trepidation.

_You're practically a _legend _to the children, _Adrian's voice suddenly rang in her head, and she blinked as the girls continued to watch her eagerly.

"Lene, _dearest," _Mona said nervously, and took her daughter's hand again, "what did I tell you about your manners with the Queen?"

"And _Karin," _Ingrid chided, casting her girl a sideways look of disapproval, "I thought I told you not to ask about this—"

"I'm sorry, girls," Elsa said finally, interrupting Ingrid mid-sentence as she settled on a calm smile, "but I'm afraid I can't, right now."

Seeing how their expressions dropped, she drew in slightly closer, and lowered her voice as if to tell a great secret. The girls followed her lead with their big, curious gazes, their foreheads nearly touching hers.

"_You see," _she whispered confidentially to them, _"my powers don't work if I don't get enough sleep, and I haven't been able to get any since I arrived!" _She held back a grin as she continued: _"So once I'm rested, it'll be much easier to do it."_

The girls shared a look of understanding at this, sympathetic.

"_I can't do my lessons when I'm sleepy, either," _Lene confessed.

"_Me too," _Karin agreed. _"It's hard to think when I'm really tired."_

Elsa's expression held a note of mirth even as she tried to maintain her solemnity about the issue.

"_Then you know how much better the magic will be when I'm not sleepy anymore, right?"_

They nodded in unison at this, and suddenly turned to their parents with determined little faces.

"We should let Queen Elsa go to bed," Karin declared, Lene nodding all the while.

"She's tired, mama," she chimed in to Mona, who, taken aback at the comments, glanced between her daughter and Elsa.

Seeing the latter's coy smile, however, she suddenly understood the request—and shared a look of amusement with Ingrid next to her as she patted Lene on the head.

"Yes, perhaps you're right," she said with a smile, "I'm sure Her Majesty needs sleep after such a long day. Wouldn't you agree, Lady Ingrid? Lady Annette?"

The two women looked as if they were about to grin, but kept their calm long enough to convince the little girls that they were taking the situation _very_ seriously.

"Of course," Ingrid said, taking Karin's hand in hers.

"Absolutely," Annette agreed, smirking slightly at Harald.

"Well then, ladies," Mona said, smiling, "say goodbye to the Queen, and let us be on our way."

The two girls curtsied. "Goodbye, Queen Elsa," they said in unison, and the adults followed suit (though the three husbands looked baffled by the entire exchange, no doubt annoyed that their interaction with Elsa had been cut short). Even as they walked away, however, the girls made sure to turn back and wave shyly to Elsa, who returned the gesture with a chuckle.

_Now maybe I really _can _leave early, and go to sleep._

Though ready for bed, Elsa was, admittedly, sad to see the girls go. They vividly reminded her of the parts of her childhood that she still _liked _to remember: the long days spent outside playing in the meadows with Anna, food fights at the dinner table, playing tricks on Gerda and the other attendants before bed, building snowmen in the Great Hall . . .

That last recollection made her wince, and no sooner had it passed through her mind than she suddenly _dreaded _the thought of going back to her quarters in the palace—or, more correctly, _his _old quarters—where she was certain that such dark thoughts would plague her the whole night through.

_And soon, he'll be _here_._

She felt her skull throb on this point, and she wondered again, _again, _how had she let herself do it? What was _wrong _with her? When was the exact moment, the exact _second _in which she'd allowed her impulsive, reptilian instincts to overtake her clear-headed, _rational_ mind and—

**"Your Majesty."**

Elsa wanted nothing more than to scowl at that title; she had heard it _far _too much already that day.

_I miss Anna._

"Prince Magnus," she greeted automatically, miraculously recognising the eldest son even while thinking only of how she was going to write that first letter to her sister.

_Will it even get to her? _she mused as the prince towered over her, ushering his wife and daughters to his side. She remembered Ivar saying something earlier at port—something about . . .

—_it appears that the sea is due to be unquiet for a few more days yet._

"This is my wife, Lady Karoline of the Lindgrens," he gestured to a tall, thin, and impeccably dressed woman with short, dark blonde hair, blue eyes, and a cool stare. "And our daughters, Silje, Liv, and Eva."

The three girls dipped one by one, all as pretty as their mother, and all as neat.

_But if the letter is delayed, that means that news of _him _will be, too, _she reminded herself, remembering her and Leif's conversation just a short while earlier on the same subject.

She smiled in spite of her unease. "And how old are you all?" she asked, just as before.

"Ten, Your Majesty," Silje curtsied.

_Light brown hair, short like her mother's. Blue eyes. Well-mannered._

Her lips pursed a little at the girl's blank expression.

_Perhaps _too _well-mannered for her age._

The middle daughter, Liv, went next.

"Seven, Your Majesty," she said, curtsying.

_Long, dark brown hair. Green eyes. Seems to take after her grandfather._

Elsa nodded, though she was beginning to feel sick.

_I couldn't _bear _it if Anna knew._

Finally, the youngest—Eva, she thought her name was—spoke.

"I'm five years old, Your Majesty," she said a little more shyly than her older sisters, making Elsa's heart warm.

_Mid-length, light blonde hair. Blue eyes. Angelic—but not as lively as her cousins._

She paused at this.

_Well, _none _of them seem to be as lively as those two, really._

"Your girls are charming, Prince Magnus, Lady Karoline," she met their parents' gazes again, though she detected none of the cordiality that the other princes and their wives—and even _Ivar—_had expressed at Elsa's interaction with their children.

_Anna _really _wouldn't like these two._

"Thank you, Your Majesty," Karoline said, though there was more than a hint of conceitedness in her tone as she kept her eyes at level with the queen's. After a time, she turned her sharp gaze down to her daughters. "Girls—aren't you going to thank the Queen for her kind words?"

All three dipped low again, and said in unison:

"Thank you, Queen Elsa."

Elsa brushed off the gesture with a nervous laugh, unsettled by the display. "Oh, there's no need for that," she said quickly, and tried to ignore the discontentment that etched itself onto the older woman's face at the comment.

_I don't think she likes me, somehow._

Magnus's expression, by contrast, was harder to read. "I take it you've met my brothers and their wives and children, as well?"

She nodded, and absently wondered how she could keep her shoulders from slumping in fatigue.

_This conversation _certainly _isn't helping to keep me alert._

"Yes—I was just speaking with Prince Harald, Ivar and Anders a moment ago, actually," she said, and was vaguely impressed with herself for being able to string words together in a sentence. She smiled a little at remembering Karin and Lene, and looked down at his children again. "Do you girls play with your cousins a lot?"

Silje, the eldest, shrugged. "They live on the other side of the island, Your Majesty," she replied simply, her blue eyes as placid—and as cryptic—as her father's. "So we don't see them much."

Elsa wanted to make some trite comment—_oh, that's a shame, _or _don't you wish you saw them more often?—_but, seeing the complete and total disinterest of nearly everyone in the family on this particular subject, she thought it best not to ask anything further.

"I see," she replied, smiling thinly.

_I'm really starting to _hate _that phrase._

"So you haven't met Mathias's wife and children, then."

It was more of a statement than a question that came from Karoline then, and she said it with a kind of snide _sneer_ that Elsa instinctively recoiled from. It reminded her far too much, actually, of the people that once would have seen her _dead _rather than rule.

_Monster._

She merely blinked politely, as if to indicate surprise. "No, I don't believe I have."

**"And I'm afraid you won't be able to, unfortunately."**

She nearly jumped out of her skin as a new voice entered the conversation, and glanced up just in time to see Karoline pale at whomever it belonged to.

When Elsa realized that the man who had spoken was the very Prince Mathias whom the woman had been previously mocking, she had to bite her cheek to keep from laughing.

_I bet she wasn't expecting _that.

"Prince Mathias," she bowed her head in acknowledgment, "forgive me—I did not see you approaching."

His darkly handsome features extended an imposing shadow over the group, though he bowed back to the queen with surprising fluidity, given his muscular build.

"No need to apologize, Your Majesty," he said quietly, "I was just _passing through."_

He shot a harsh glare at Karoline as he stood straight, and then exchanged only a brief look with his older brother.

"Magnus," he greeted.

"Mathias," the other returned.

Elsa glanced between them, baffled; then, she felt resigned.

_It's not so different from how Anna and I used to be, is it?_

She twitched at the notion, collecting herself again. "You're both . . . in the Army, if I remember correctly?"

"Yes," Magnus replied promptly, not looking at Mathias as he spoke. "Mathias acts as a Captain under _my _command."

Mathias's expression darkened at this remark.

"Indeed."

He turned back to Elsa in the next moment, a brooding frown playing on his lips. "As I was saying, Your Majesty," he began, "I apologize for my wife and children being _unable_ to attend tonight."

He stared severely at Karoline when he said that word—_unable_—but Elsa was too tired to care why.

She stuck to the general context instead. "Is everything all right?" she asked, pretending concern.

He nodded gruffly. "It's my youngest daughter, Mari," he explained, "she came down with some kind of illness. Nothing serious, but Cecilie—my wife—thought it best if she stayed home with her." He looked somewhat irritated when he paused—and his arms tensed—but he continued. "And my daughter Anna, the elder, wouldn't leave her sister's side, of course."

Elsa blinked at the name—_Anna—_and it evoked a warm, cosy feeling in her breast_._

_I really _do _miss her._

Karoline snorted suddenly—and the sound was loud enough to draw everyone's attention to her face, which was full of disbelief—but as soon as she encountered Mathias's deep, unrelenting scowl, she swallowed uncomfortably.

Elsa's brow rose; even if she didn't _want _to care or be curious in the slightest about this family's internal drama, they certainly weren't making much of an effort to hide their disdain for each other in front of her.

"Well, I do hope your daughter recovers soon," Elsa said suddenly, hoping to somehow slip out of the suffocating conversation. "Please send them all my regards, and tell them that I hope we can meet in the near future."

"And send _ours, _too, won't you, brother?" Magnus added, if somewhat condescendingly.

Mathias's scowl had not dissipated in the slightest. "Of course_, _Your Majesty," he nodded to her, "_brother," _he glared at Magnus, who stared stonily back.

Elsa swallowed, stiffening.

_Now's my chance._

"If you'll excuse me, Your Highnesses," she stepped back as smoothly as she could from the group, "I'm just going to have a word with my adviser."

Her exit broke the tension, if only for a second, and they bowed and curtsied to her in turn.

"Your Majesty," said Magnus.

"Your Majesty," said Karoline.

"Your Majesty," said Mathias.

She dipped her head and then—_finally—_she lifted her eyes again, and scanned the room.

_I can't leave without Leif knowing, _she thought, and sighed internally. _I've already caused him too much trouble._

"Erik," she spotted one of her guards who had been following her all evening, and was gladder than ever to see a familiar, Arendellian face, "have you seen Sir Leif?"

The older man gestured to the far end of the room, his long, brown hair falling across his forehead.

"He's been engaged in conversation with a fellow by the refreshments for some time now, Your Majesty," he informed her as they began to make their way over, and she nodded perfunctorily to various courtiers along the way.

She looked up at the tall man with a jokingly pained expression. "Please, at least call me 'Queen Elsa,'" she said in a pretend-pleading way, wincing. "I've heard enough 'Your Majesty''s today to last a lifetime."

He smirked a little at her request, and replied:

"As you wish, Queen Elsa."

She breathed a sigh of relief. "That's _much _better," she praised, summoning a grateful smile. She glanced around the room, making sure to avoid resting her gaze on any stranger at court for too long lest they get the impression that it was all right to approach her then (it wasn't) or ask her—_Heaven forbid_—if she'd like to dance (she didn't, not in the _slightest). _

It was amazing to her, really, how long it was taking them just to get from one part of the ballroom to the other; and perhaps she could have appreciated its majesty, and the beautiful design and decoration of it, had she not felt as if she were on the verge of simply tumbling over into a deep, endless slumber right then and there on the polished wooden floor.

"Do you think it would be terribly rude for me to leave now?" she asked her guardsman frankly, allowing her eyes to droop. "I've never felt so tired in my life."

Erik looked at her curiously; and suddenly, Elsa realized, with some embarrassment, that it was probably strange for him to hear his queen speak so informally.

"I'm sorry," she amended sheepishly, reddening. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

He shook his head, smiling a little. "No, it's fine—I understand, Queen Elsa," he said gently. "And I'm not sure I'm really the man to ask such a thing, since I don't know much about what's considered 'proper' at this court, but . . ." He paused, and grinned with surprising ease. "I would _assume _that leaving after only an hour or so might be considered a bit . . . _unusual, _at least."

She sighed at this, smoothing back a bang from her face. "I suppose you're right," she admitted, and continued more guiltily: "But I really _wish _I could."

They shared a smile after this, and Elsa, for the first time that day, felt secure that at least _one _of her her decisions—namely, to bring along several members of her close, personal guard, including Erik, to the Isles with her—had been correct.

_It's not as if I left Anna undefended, anyway, _she affirmed. _There's plenty more back home with her._

Her mood lightened at this.

_And besides—she has Kristoff._

_And Olaf._

_And even _Sven_._

She giggled to herself at this, though she had to wipe her amusement from her face as they finally arrived at the refreshments table.

"Sir Leif," she greeted her unusually rosy-cheeked adviser, who blinked in surprise upon seeing her.

"Oh, my Queen!" he exclaimed, settling down his wineglass clumsily on the table behind him, "I was wondering where you went." He gestured to his side. "I've been speaking with Sir Anton, one of the Queen's advisers."

She raised an eyebrow at his state—_drunk, no doubt, _she mused—but she could hardly judge him harshly for it.

"I was just meeting some of the princes and their families," she told him, and her gaze shifted to the man at his side. "Sir Anton—a pleasure."

The man standing beside Leif looked around the same age, if slightly younger; and he, likewise, was redder than a ripened tomato.

"Your Majesty," he bowed, and would have spilled the contents of his glass onto her dress had it not been for Erik's expertly pushing her out of the path of the red liquid, now splashed onto the floor below.

The Southern Queen's adviser looked mortified, stuttering.

"Oh—oh, Your Majesty! Please, I—I—I'm so sorry, forgive me—"

She held up a hand as her forehead wrinkled slightly; she achieved a wincing smile.

"No harm done, Sir Anton," she assured him, exchanging a knowing look with Erik before drawing close to Leif. "I just came to inform you that I'll likely be retiring soon, for the evening," she was succinct, though she watched to make sure he understood her, "but do not feel as though you have to leave on my account."

She eyed Anton's humiliated shuffling as an attendant came to clean up the mess with a rag, staring at Leif pointedly.

"I wouldn't want to cut your _conversation _short, after all."

He reddened at this, and Elsa had to admit, if only to herself, that his embarrassment pleased her.

_He was_ _scolding me _so_ much earlier, after all._

"Please, Your Majesty," he bowed, averting his eyes from her shrewd stare, "you should rest, of course."

She nodded curtly. "I'll see you tomorrow morning. Good night until then, Sir Leif."

He continued in that bowing position, but even from where she stood, she could see that his face was as crimson as ever.

"Good night, Your Majesty."

Her urge to smile smugly was _intense_, but, against all the odds, her manners won out, and she departed in as calm and regal a fashion as was expected of her.

_You can't let it go, Elsa. _

Her hands tightened into fists at her side.

_Not yet._

* * *

It had taken Elsa another half an hour to finally wrangle herself out of that first night's ball—and then _another _thirty minutes to wash her face and dress for bed—and somehow, in spite of _all _of that, she laid wide awake, staring up at the canopy.

_Well—_wide_ awake might be pushing it._

She was still bone-weary from the day's events, of course, and a part of her enjoyed simply lying in bed and not having to move, or nod, or refuse invitations to dance, or say "mhm" and "I see" and "pleasure to meet you" to one painted face after the other.

The _other _part of her, however, was restless—_fiercely _restless.

At first, she thought it was due to the raucous noise filtering in from the ongoing party in the ballroom, which—though nearly at the other end of the palace—could still be heard from her room.

(And she had, admittedly, been surprised that the ball had carried on after her departure, since back in Arendelle, it surely would have ended whenever the Queen retired back to her chambers, even if she chose to do so much earlier than expected.)

_I _did _tell them not to stop on my account, _she reminded herself with a frown, _though I didn't expect that they would _actually_ keep going._

But as the hours had ticked by, the noise eventually dying down to a few whispers going up and down the halls—and Elsa remained just as awake as before—she knew that that couldn't be the explanation for her agitation.

_Too much has happened already._

She couldn't stop herself from dwelling on every little thing she felt she had done wrong since she arrived—every word misspoken, every nervous laugh, every mistimed frown, every disingenuous smile—and, quite frankly, her surroundings weren't helping matters, since they only reminded her of what she had to "look forward" to within the coming days.

_I really, _really_ don't know what I was thinking._

She sighed, and it felt like the thousandth sigh she had released that evening.

_But I _do _know. _

Elsa finally sat up and ran her hand along the snow-patterned throw sprawled across the bed, grabbing a fistful of the fabric as she tensed in the darkness.

_I won't live in fear of _him_._

She wondered, then, if it had been worth it—thinking back on all the stares and whispers and even _sneers _she had received from the courtiers during the ball, still in disbelief at her "display" at court—and she felt her hand relax slightly.

_It doesn't matter what _they_ think._

She pulled away the covers after a moment and breathed out slowly, calming herself.

_It's just something I—I _have _to do_.

It was clear, by then, that there was no chance of getting to sleep any time soon; she slipped on a night robe and felt slippers from the overly-large wardrobe by the bed, and—nearly forgetting—she grabbed a pair of white gloves from the top of the dresser nearest to the doors.

_I need to get out of _here,_ at least._

She opened one door, scaring the wits out of her Arendellian guardsman in front of it—Martin, one of the younger ones—and held back a giggle as he stumbled to collect himself, earning a glare from his older colleague, Finn.

"Your Majesty," he started, and his posture straightened again as she shut the door quietly behind her, "you're going out?"

She shook her head. "I couldn't sleep, but I'm not going anywhere in particular," she admitted. "I thought I might just wander around the halls—if you'll accompany me, of course."

Martin blushed at the offer. "Oh, Your Majesty, of co—"

"Perhaps it would be better if _I _accompanied you, Queen Elsa," Finn interceded, cutting the younger man a sharp look. "After all, he is . . . rather _new _to all of this."

Elsa refrained from grinning at the scene, amused by the jealous comment, and nodded politely.

"Whatever arrangement suits you both best."

Seeing Finn's glare morph into a threatening glower, Martin swallowed nervously, and bowed.

"Of course Sir Finn should go with you, Your Majesty," he lowered his head in deference. "I'll watch over your quarters in the meantime."

Finn's look eased slightly at this, satisfied by the show of respect, and Elsa covered her mouth as a smirk played on her lips.

"Very well then," she concluded the conversation, and gestured to the hallway before her. "Sir Finn, if you would."

He bowed and turned from Martin, following Elsa as she began to walk away from the room; when she glanced back, she could see Martin's disappointment written all over his youthful features, and she winced with guilt.

She stopped suddenly, turned around, and curtsied to her guard.

"We'll see you soon, Sir Martin," she said with a warm smile, ignoring the frown on Finn's face as she did so.

Martin beamed back. "Yes, Your Majesty!" he nearly exclaimed, though he looked embarrassed, in the next moment, to realize how loud he had been at such a late hour.

She allowed herself a giggle at his expense, and she knew then that it was worth bearing Finn's irritation for the rest of her walk just to see that contented look planted on Martin's dimpled cheeks. It made her feel better knowing that she had made at least _one _person happy that day, anyway.

Her fingers curled at the thought, and she desperately wanted to form a cloud of flurries—_anything—_to dispel the tension building inside of her then.

_Not now, Elsa._

Even strolling at a leisurely pace through the great residence hall of the palace, she didn't feel comfortable with the idea of taking off her gloves; there were still too many strange eyes she did not trust on her as she passed, and though they were only other guardsmen like Finn and Martin, she did not know them well enough to be . . . well, _herself._

_The _Snow Queen_ of Arendelle._

She brushed off the name as she finally pulled her eyes away from the marble floors in front of her to gaze at the surrounding walls, scanning the countless family portraits hanging on them.

_Just the same as any other kingdom._

The men all seemed to resemble King Oskar in one way or the other—the brown hair (though his had gone grey many years ago), the ocean-blue eyes, the slight and tall figure—and though all had married a number of countesses, duchesses, and other highborn women with varied physical characteristics, the traits of the Isles' Kings had stubbornly passed on to nearly all their children.

That is . . . until _her._

She stopped in her tracks when she reached the end of the long corridor; then, her gaze travelled up until it reached a familiar set of eyes, eyes _as bright as emeralds—_

And there she stood on the winding staircase of the entrance hall—the current Queen of the Southern Isles—in a billowy, silken, deep blue gown, with one pale, smooth hand lightly gripping the railing, and the other encased in the hold of a middle-aged Oskar, his hair still dark and his skin glowing with health.

Even this version of the King, however, was unremarkable in comparison to the younger Therese, her hair looking redder and finer than Elsa could remember as it lay across her chest in a thick, elegant braid inlaid with flowers, pearls, and gemstones, topped with a large, fan-shaped tiara that shimmered even through the paint.

_. . . he married the Queen while she was still just a girl, no more than fifteen—and he over _forty_._

It was easy to see, looking at the portrait, how the King had been so quickly taken with Therese's beauty, though Elsa remained of the firm opinion that she had been too young—_far _too young—to be married when she was.

_Even younger than Anna when she—_

She shook off the memory with some effort, frowning, and stared back up at the painting in an almost _accusing _manner.

_I guess _he _got his ideas about marriage from his parents, huh?_

"It really is a bit much, isn't it?"

Elsa breathed in sharply at the question, and slowly craned her neck around to meet the Queen herself, likewise covered in a night robe and wearing slippers, both as red as her hair.

"Your Majesty," she curtsied as the Queen nodded to her. "Forgive me. I did not see you there."

The Queen smiled knowingly. "I didn't want to interrupt when you seemed so deep in thought," she returned, looking past Elsa at the portrait. A brief touch of nostalgia coloured her green eyes as she regarded it. "I still remember the day I stood for it with Oskar," she sighed, pressing a bare hand to her cheek. "Not two days after we were wed."

She laughed a little at the memory, and glanced at Elsa interestedly. "I must look too young there to be married, mustn't I?"

Elsa reddened at the remark, though the Queen, it seemed, did not expect a reply.

"Well, I _was, _really. But you know what they say," she added, a strange light in her gaze, "'the course of true love never did run smooth.'"

Elsa's blush subsided a little in curiosity. "Were you and the King very much in love, then, when you—when you married?" She looked embarrassed a moment later. "I'm sorry if that's rude to ask—"

"No, not rude at all," the Queen interrupted reassuringly, staring at her painted visage. "Admittedly," she said reluctantly, "it was Oskar who confessed his love to me first, and I—well," she continued with an indecipherable expression, "I learned to love him back."

She paused for effect. "But, of course, that was easy to do with Oskar," she said more cheerfully, though the smile on her lips was somehow unconvincing. "He has been a good and faithful husband to me all these years, and an excellent father to our sons."

Elsa tried not to stare back in disbelief.

_And have you_ _been a "good and faithful" wife, Your Majesty?_

The Queen's smile was stiff as she finally tore her eyes away from the painting. "I could not have asked for a better match, really." She turned to Elsa with an inquiring stare. "Have you thought about marriage, yet, Your Majesty?"

Elsa averted her eyes from the Queen's, caught off-guard by the sudden shift in topic.

"I, um, well," she began hesitantly, "I've received several offers, but . . . I haven't actually considered any of them seriously yet, no."

The Queen made a small noise of understanding, nodding. "Well, it's early days yet, I suppose," she remarked, "and besides, after everything that's happened . . . I can't say I blame you for waiting."

Elsa's jaw twitched at this; somehow, coming from _her, _the sympathy didn't feel genuine at all_. _

"It's not that—not that I haven't thought about it," she admitted after a moment, still uneasy, "but—like you said yourself, Your Majesty—_too much _has happened."

There was silence for a while after this—and Elsa wondered if, perhaps, she had been too blunt—but before she could think of something to say to dispel the quiet, the Queen spoke.

"Since it seems neither of us is able to sleep yet," she observed, her eyes as unruffled as before, "would you like to take a stroll with me through the gardens?" She gestured to the hall on their left. "There's a lovely one in the cloister by the chapel."

Considering the fact that she thought she had just, well, sort of . . . _offended _the Queen in some way, Elsa was taken aback by the kind offer.

"Of—of course, Your Majesty," she nodded, unable to keep the surprise out of her voice. "I would like that very much."

The Queen smiled, and swept her crimson robe after her as she walked.

"Then please, Your Majesty—follow me."

* * *

It took much less time than expected to reach the cloister, Elsa thought—then again, the Queen was walking at a much brisker pace than during the tour earlier (and her feet hardly made a sound against the polished stone floor below, Elsa noticed enviously).

They had walked in silence during that time, though the young queen of Arendelle didn't find the quiet as disturbing as before. Still, she glanced behind them from time to time to check that Finn was still following, and whenever she met his eyes, the two nodded to each other in understanding.

Close behind him were the Queen's guardsmen—all _five _of them—and though the number seemed excessive, Elsa supposed that, in such a gigantic palace, she might feel less safe with only one or two men herself.

_And it's so . . . _spooky _at night, _she thought, listening absently to the tramping of the guard's feet and how it echoed through the wide, white hallways. Moonlight filtered in through the tall windows on either side, and it cast a strange pallor on the stone—sometimes shifting as clouds passed in front of it, other times as stiff and straight as a beam of sunlight—but always eerie.

"Ah—here we are."

They stood by the entrance to the chapel at the end of the hall—an entrance, Elsa noted, which looked only slightly grander than all the others to the various rooms of the palace, marked out as a chapel only by the religious symbols carved into the iron bars over it—but the Queen was staring at a wooden door to the left of it, her gaze softer than before.

A guard materialized from the group behind them to unlock the door, having a set of master keys in his possession, and once unlocked, he opened it with nary a creak to be heard.

"Thank you, Karl," she said, and from her familiar form of address, Elsa gathered that she knew the guard well—and also from the fact that he was trusted to carry so many important keys in the first place.

_And I wonder how _else _she might know him._

She reddened at the notion, scolding herself internally for even surmising such a thing while in the presence of the Queen.

_Kai filled my head with all these . . . _ideas, _didn't he? _

She cooled her skin to rid herself of the thought as she followed the Queen through the entrance to the cloister.

_Just focus on playing your part, Elsa—on keeping calm—on . . ._

Her eyes widened.

_This is . . . _beautiful.

The grey stone of the winding path through the large, walled-in garden was surprisingly softer on her slipper-covered feet than the marble of the palace, and she found herself almost _floating _along it as she gazed, wide-eyed, around the enclosure.

Though surrounded by the tall walls of the palace, the garden itself was a colourful display of expertly-tended plants, bushes and flowers of every variety—even those, Elsa noted, which normally would not have been blooming that time of year. The moonlight, which had seemed so ghostly earlier, illuminated their colours, contours and contrasts in a way that daylight never could; she even touched the red leaf of one particularly luminous bush to see if it was real (though, she realized immediately afterward with a frown, she couldn't _really _tell through her gloves).

But what attracted the young queen most to the place was how _wild _it felt.

Compared to the perfectly-manicured appearance of everything else she had seen since she stepped foot in the palace—the pristinely clean dishes upon which dinner had been served, the buffed wooden floors of the ballroom, the brilliant shine of the chandeliers hanging from nearly every ceiling in sight—this garden felt unkempt and somehow _intimate, _as if she were invading the Queen's privacy by entering it.

_Maybe it _is _her private garden, _she thought, and felt a little relieved that she was wearing her gloves then, lest she unintentionally freeze something.

The Queen looked back at Elsa over her shoulder as the last guard closed the door behind them, smiling knowingly at the younger woman's admiring stare.

"You might have guessed, Your Majesty," she began, "that this garden . . . isn't exactly open to the public." She touched an orchid briefly, gazing at the plant fondly. "I often come here, when I need to think."

Elsa nodded. "I can see why," she returned, smiling. "It's very peaceful."

The Queen looked at her gloved hands curiously. "You needn't worry about that here, Your Majesty," she told her kindly. "Please, feel free to remove them."

Elsa's heart seized at the suggestion, gentle as it was; she shook her head after a moment, her fingers tightly interlaced.

"I appreciate your concern, Your Majesty," she said, her back stiff, "but, if you don't mind—I feel more comfortable keeping them on."

"_Therese," _the Queen said suddenly, and smiled coyly, "if you please."

Elsa blinked in surprise at this—and then, realising what the proper response was, she blushed, and dipped her head gratefully.

"In that case, Your—_Therese," _she corrected, her cheeks pink, "please—call me Elsa, as well."

The Queen—no, _Therese, _Elsa reminded herself—smirked a little at this.

"Very well, _Elsa," _she replied playfully, making Elsa's blush deepen. After a moment, her expression grew more serious again. "And about the gloves—I understand," she said, her tone sympathetic. "Although . . . I do hope that you grow comfortable enough, at some point during your stay here, to take them off."

Elsa swallowed at the idea.

"I don't think that would be advisable," she said, and frowned a little at how piteous she sounded.

_You're a _**queen**, _Elsa—now _act _like one._

"Well, it's your choice, of course," Therese said simply, seeming to lose interest in the topic. "I wouldn't want to ask for anything . . . _unreasonable _of you."

The comment stung, and Elsa guessed that she had meant it to.

"I'm sorry," she said suddenly, her head bowed contritely, "for—for all that's happened since I arrived."

_So much for trying to act _tough.

She grimaced at the soft, green grass below, sparkling under the moon's glow. "I've demanded so much from you, and it's only been a day—"

"What are you saying, dear?" Therese interrupted, surprised by the sudden apology. "You've done nothing wrong—nor have you demanded much at all."

Elsa lifted her eyes to meet the Queen's, and surprise was once again written all over her pale, wintry features.

"I . . . I haven't?"

The auburn-haired monarch smiled as she took a seat on a stone bench by a fountain, patting the spot next to her. Elsa hesitantly took it, sweeping her robe under her.

"If you're referring to what happened earlier in the throne room," she said, catching Elsa's discomfiture, "there's really no need to feel sorry for it." She paused as her eyes turned to look at the running water in the fountain. "To tell the truth, I—I _admire_ you for what you did."

Elsa was mute with shock.

_She . . . _admires _me?_

"I . . . I'm not sure I understand," she said slowly after a minute, still processing the idea.

Therese sighed, and her gaze returned to Elsa. "Of course I wasn't well-pleased at first with the request, given my son's crimes against you and your kingdom," she admitted, frowning a little, "but then, the determination with which you spoke—and the way you overcame your own fear in that moment—I was truly _moved _by it."

Elsa didn't know whether to be more flabbergasted by the mere _notion _that this intensely powerful, intimidating woman could be, hypothetically, "moved" by the rash decision of a young, inexperienced queen—or by the fact that Therese's eyes were very clearly _genuine _in their communication of this.

_Could it—could it really be _true?

"You may think I'm just putting it on, and that I'm really just glad that you've given me an excuse to see my son again—and I couldn't blame you for feeling that way," she added with a serious look. "But—_honestly_—that's not why."

Elsa blushed, embarrassed. That explanation, logical as it was, had not even crossed her mind.

Therese frowned at her earlier thought. "In fact, I was perfectly content never to see him _again,_ but . . ." Her tone became nonchalant. "No matter. I understand, anyway, that this is something you have to do for yourself—and I don't begrudge you that decision in the slightest, even if others would."

Elsa wondered, with consternation, if what the Queen said could really be true—that if she never saw him again, her own _son, _she would be "perfectly content."

_It fits her image, though, doesn't it?_

Even so, she felt unsettled by the remark; and she had to wonder, if briefly, how the Queen might turn on _her _should she do anything to upset the peace.

Elsa tried to keep from shuddering at the thought.

"It really was just an impulsive wish, Your—_Therese," _she amended at the last second, her face flushed. "And—if I'm being honest—I've been questioning it since this morning."

Therese placed a hand on her shoulder at this—and, though it was warm, Elsa nearly recoiled from it—and the Queen's expression was unusually sombre.

"Don't doubt yourself, Elsa," she cautioned the young woman, her grip tightening, "for others will see it—they'll _smell _it—and they will prey upon you for it."

Elsa's blush dissembled at the warning, feeling a little ashamed to have revealed her internal misgivings to a woman who was, still, only a stranger.

"I—I know," she breathed out hollowly. "I know that, but . . ." She swallowed uneasily. "It's hard _not_ to, sometimes."

Therese released her shoulder, sighing again. "I know, dear," she said with easy affection. "After all, I was your age once, too—if you can believe that."

Elsa's mouth wrinkled with a smile at the quip as the Queen continued. "Of course, back then, I had Oskar to support me; so I can only imagine how hard it must be to rule on your own there in Arendelle, with only your Council to rely upon."

She had to keep her eyebrow from rising at this comment.

_You had him there to _support_ you? Or to act as your _figurehead _while _**you**_ ruled?_

Elsa shrugged, ignoring her mind's musings. "It's not so bad," she said gently. "I've known many of my advisers since I was a girl, so I trust them." She smiled again. "Besides, I have Anna—my younger sister, the Princess—and she always . . . well, she _usually _listens."

Elsa sighed, then giggled, at the memory of Anna as a child, her big, blue eyes wide with wonder as she sat listening to her older sister tell her fairy tales before bedtime. "So I feel quite blessed, actually."

Therese listened to her in silence, and did not say anything afterward for a while, making Elsa slightly nervous. Then, all of a sudden, she smiled—but the smile was thin, and somehow tired.

"That's good," she said simply, rising from the bench. "That's very good."

Her voice sounded distant, compared to earlier—_cold,_ even.

"Is . . . is everything all right?" Elsa asked as she rose as well, unable to help but feel a _little _bit concerned—well, _concerned _might have been pushing it—or, at the very least, _apprehensive _at the change.

The Queen's smile was more relaxed as her eyes met Elsa's again. "I'm fine, dear girl," she said in the same, strangely _tender_ manner as before. "I was just thinking . . . oh, it doesn't matter," she trailed off, waving her hand dismissively at the subject.

Elsa's brow rose, curious. "What is it?"

Therese stroked the petals of a lily pad floating in the lower bowl of the fountain, and she sat on the edge of its stone exterior, a thoughtful look gracing her features.

"It was nothing really, except . . . well, I think you're a fine young woman, Elsa, I really do," she paused, "but I . . . I worry for you."

The comment irritated Elsa, though she had to pretend otherwise.

_You barely even _know _me; how could you be _worried _for me?_

"What do you mean?" she inquired innocently.

"Oh, it's nothing _too _serious," Therese assured her as she squared her shoulders and lifted herself from the stone, gesturing to Elsa to follow her as she continued along the path through the garden. "I only meant that—that I know what it's like, trying to prove yourself to the people as a young queen at the start of your reign," she explained, the moon casting a halo over her red tresses. "And I don't want you to have to go through what _I _went through, all those years ago."

Elsa's apprehension eased at this, if only slightly; her curiosity, once again, had gotten the better of her wariness.

"Was it very difficult for you, at first?"

The Queen glanced back with her shrewd, olive-coloured irises. "I suppose you've heard the stories about how I ascended to the throne," she drawled, and added, as if sensing Elsa's discomfort: "Don't worry, dear—_everyone _has." She shrugged lightly. "I could hardly expect you to be ignorant of them before you arrived, anyway."

Therese's eyes were filled with dark amusement. "No doubt your _trusted advisers _would have informed you about me."

Elsa's face burned at the remark. "They . . . they did mention you, yes," she admitted softly, and thought of Kai's nervousness on the day before her departure—that day which now seemed a _lifetime_ ago.

Therese chuckled, though there was little humour in the sound.

"Of course they did," she rejoined, and then sighed, defeated. "I suppose I have earned myself a bit of a nasty reputation over the years, deserved or not," she confessed, gazing up at the clear, starless night sky. "I'm not proud of everything I've done to secure my position—but then, I doubt any ruler is, really," she reflected, pausing. "Some sacrifices _must _be made for the greater good, after all."

Elsa's brow finally rose, somewhat incredulous.

_"Greater good"?_

She could practically hear Anna's snort of incredulity in her head as she mulled over the phrase, and that alone made her want to laugh, _badly—_but she had enough self-control to rein in that desire, sensing that the lull in the conversation indicated her duty to respond to the Queen's vague stories.

"Then why are—why do you think there _are _so many stories about you?"

Therese looked unbothered by the query, having probably expected it. "The same reason that there are countless rumours about the _deadly and beautiful_ 'Snow Queen of Arendelle,'" she said gently, observing how Elsa cringed at the reminder of her reputation. "People like to talk—_especially _about those whom they are envious of."

In Elsa's tense silence, the Queen went on, and her next words held an edge of bitterness—and world-weariness—to them.

"Whether it be our beauty, our fame, or our fortunes—there will always be those in this great, wide world who wish for nothing more than to take _everything_ away from us."

Her eyes tightened, and she closed them briefly. "I was like that too, once," she admitted, "when I was a young girl, living each day not knowing if I would have something to eat, or if I would ever be able to replace the rags I wore with proper clothes."

She breathed out, long and deep, and seemed calmer afterwards. "But I fought my way out—I fought with every _fibre _of my being—and here I am today," she concluded strongly, her eyes as solid as the marble of the palace. "The Queen of the Southern Isles, wife to the King, and mother to thirteen—" she paused, "_twelve _princes."

Elsa crimsoned, not knowing what to say.

_Why . . . why is she telling me all of this?_

Therese finally turned to face Elsa again, her expression as firm as her voice.

"And I want _you _to fight too, Elsa," she said, her eyes pulsating with intensity as they bore into Elsa's. "I want you to be strong—_stronger,_ even, than I was then—and face them all without fear."

Elsa shook a little at those words.

_Didn't . . . didn't Gerda say the same thing?_

"They will question you, of course—_publicly, _even—and they'll whisper behind your back, in your front, at your sides," Therese continued, her tone almost chilling. "They'll say you're not good enough—that you're not _fit _to be queen, using whatever excuses are most convenient—and they'll try to chip away at your confidence, bit by bit, until you start to believe it yourself."

Elsa's eyes widened at how stormy the Queen's stare had become—how _terrifying, _even—but she did not move away, frozen in place by the force of those dark, shimmering eyes.

**His** _eyes._

"But you shouldn't pay them any mind, Elsa—you _can't, _because the minute, no, the very _second _that you start to do so," she warned, drawing closer to the young queen, "you let them win—you let them have _power _over you."

She refrained from touching Elsa this time, as she'd done before—something the white-haired girl was thankful for, if nothing else—but her presence alone was unsettling enough.

"Therese, I . . ." Elsa trailed off, unsure.

"I'm sorry if I—if I've made you uneasy with all this," Therese said suddenly, drawing away from her. "I know it's not my place to offer up such advice, especially since we've only just met."

Elsa pinked.

_She's more self-aware than I gave her credit for._

"It's fine, really," she tried to reassure the Queen, though she knew she didn't sound very convincing. "I was just . . . surprised, I suppose." Her hands fidgeted as they clasped together in front of her. "At your being so—so _open _with me."

Therese smiled, her earlier passion fairly extinguished. "To be perfectly honest," she began, a touch of surprise in her own tone, "I wasn't expecting to be. In fact," she admitted with a small grin, "I thought I would dislike you, before we met."

Elsa blinked, taken aback by the admission.

"Dis—_dislike_ me?"

The Queen chuckled. "Well, I was aware of your powers and of your great beauty, of course, by your reputation," she said easily, "but I _also _knew the stories about the 'Orphan Princesses of Arendelle'—and how isolated you and your sister were before you became Queen."

Elsa felt it again—that creeping, _crawling _cold in her veins.

_Not now, Elsa. _Not _now._

"I'm ashamed to admit I was taken in by the rumours about you and your inexperience," Therese continued more contritely, "and I suppose that I—that I was _resentful, _in a sense, of how easily you appeared to ascend to your throne."

She regarded the Snow Queen's pale features warmly. "Now, of course, I can see how wrong I was—I can see how hard it has been on you, too."

She reached out a hand—seemingly to touch Elsa again—but it fell upon the branch of a short tree standing by them, and rested there.

"And, seeing that, I wanted to—to reach out to you in some way," her tone was kind, "and to reassure you that, in this world of _men,_ you are not alone."

Elsa looked up at that, and her lips opened, as if to reply—but no words came out.

_You are not alone._

She closed them again after a moment, bowing her head.

_I know what it's like, Elsa_.

Her eyes shut tight, her brow stitched in bemusement.

_Don't let them have _power _over you._

Therese moved away from her, but not without lightly patting her on the shoulder first.

"I think it's best if we tried to get some rest, now," she remarked, and walked back towards the door to the cloister. "It's getting late, after all."

Elsa swallowed, her blue eyes opening again as she nodded.

"Of course."

_You can't let them _win_._

She followed Therese to the door, and the guardsmen all stepped through first on the Queen's command—leaving her and Elsa alone, for a brief moment, in the garden.

Therese smiled again, and her tight gaze was full of untold secrets.

"Remember, Elsa," she whispered, and her eyes blazed, "_never _give in."


	8. Chapter 7: The Exile

**Author's Note: **Guys, I'm overwhelmed by your support for this fic, and so, _so _grateful for the lovely reviews. As promised, the thirteenth prince finally makes his appearance! And as always, I'm eager to hear your thoughts on his characterisation (and his interaction with everyone's favourite Queen of Mystery).

* * *

**Chapter 7: The Exile**

No matter how many times it happened—and it had happened too many times to count already that day—Hans was still incredulous at the notion that even _eyebrows _could sweat.

Not just sweat, no—practically _drip _with moisture.

He grimaced as he wiped it off with the inside of his arm, returning his attention to the task at hand.

_Just one more hour._

The already-full sack of apples slung across his chest was starting to cause his shoulder more pain than he would admit aloud, but he merely adjusted it with stony determination, continuing to pick more of the red fruits.

Not that he would have complained, were he able to; doing so, after all, would earn him nothing but the scorn of the overseers, not to mention his fellow exiles. He'd found that out the hard way during his first two months on the island, when one too many smart comments—or merely an eye-roll—had resulted in more than a couple black eyes and fractured ribs.

_Then the whistle blows._

His practiced hands glided from branch to branch in his work, and his feet easily balanced on the wooden ladder, though he was fairly high up. Having been a naval officer in his previous life, though, he supposed he'd never had much of a problem with heights. The ships he'd worked on in the past, anyway, had always had far less stable ladders, some made only of rope, to climb.

_You'll even get to take a bath today._

The prospect of being able to clean himself for the first time that week easily overrode any reminiscing about his previous life at sea, and even managed to bring a small, thin look of contentment to his tanned face.

_You're pathetic._

Not even that thought—frequent as it arose—could quell the feeling of anticipation he had for the occasion, imagining, even under the blistering heat of the late afternoon sun, how painfully he would scrub every inch of his skin in his weekly attempt to extricate himself from the perpetual state of griminess which he now inhabited.

_Not that it ever really_ does_ anything._

He finally frowned at this mocking reminder by his eternally ungrateful brain, forcefully plucking the last apple off the branch in irritation.

_You'll be just as filthy again by the end of tomorrow's shift._

Too agitated to continue—and feeling the sack weighing him down more severely than before—he finally descended to dump the contents of it in a wheelbarrow nearby, keeping his expression as blank as possible lest the others catch wind of his foul mood.

_At least you're not cleaning the cow manure today._

He adjusted the ladder to reach another part of the same tree and ascended it again, wearing a grim look at the memory. He hadn't been able to wash that particular stench out of his clothes—or skin and hair—for several _weeks _after he'd slipped and fallen into a pile of it by accident, and the others had done nothing but give him grief for the incident, constantly reminding him of how badly he stunk.

_As if I didn't _know_ that._

He could have sighed in relief at the brief respite his torso had been allowed, now that the sack was empty again; however, when he thought he caught a contemptuous look from one of the other labourers in the grove, he quickly began to fill it.

_It feels . . . _endless.

It didn't seem to matter that it had now been nearly a year since he'd first been exiled to that horrid place, nor that he was, in some ways, _used _to it there. The time still passed like thick sand through an hourglass with the thinnest neck ever crafted, and _nothing_—not the changing seasons, the shorter days, the routine of farm labour—made it go by any faster.

In fact, in some ways, the labour itself felt like the slowest part. Under the puritanical leadership of the Queen's "distant relations"—or "your Aunt Agnes and Uncle Edvard," as she had told Hans on the day he was sent off—the workers were allowed few of the "distractions" (as they called them) that normal farmhands traditionally used to pass the time, such as singing simple country songs, talking amongst each other, or even just gawking at pretty girls as they passed by.

(Not that the latter was even possible, since his _dear _"Aunt and Uncle" only took on male labourers—another policy, he was sure, that was meant to further suck any _hint _of normalcy from their lives.)

He nearly glowered to think that "Aunt" Agnes had been the only woman he'd seen since he stepped foot on Vollan Island all those months ago. Combined with the dull ache that was beginning to make itself known in his shoulders again, that fact filled him with a kind of impotent aggravation.

_And she's not even attractive in the slightest_.

The older woman and her husband were as common-looking as two farmers could be, with dark hair, dark eyes, and burnt, red skin from many years spent outside in the sun. It was only after the Queen had arranged for her youngest son—the _traitor prince—_to be cast out to their island that they acquired a bit of wealth in return, and now, as a result, they took great pleasure in retiring from outdoor work, leaving it to their free labour while they grew fat and lazy.

_I'm _certain _they're not even related to her._

Even knowing that the Queen had come from low origins, he didn't see how she could have, in any way, been connected to _them_. For one thing, her appearance—the same one she had passed down to him—did not resemble theirs even a _little _bit, nor did her taste for fine wine, good food, and beautiful dresses.

Nonetheless, he had long since stopped wondering what debt the Queen might owe these plain, boring people to claim them as her own, let alone to ensure that they were living "comfortably," since doing so only managed to work him up into a fit of annoyance.

More to the point, his bitterness towards the Queen had generally waxed and waned over the months in as predictable a fashion as the moon, though recently he had been actively trying to shove it down. It was too difficult, otherwise, to keep up the pretense of the "good worker bee"—and that was the one he relied upon most to survive in that harsh environment.

_They can _smell _arrogance here, after all._

On the rare occasion that he _had _let his frustration with the situation get to him—when he'd let it dig at him over a number of days, and even months, before finally bursting in a spit of anger or a fist in the face of one of the brutes he had the misfortune of working with—he had paid for it dearly.

One incident, in fact, had resulted in a concussion that had kept him confined to a flea-infested straw bed for nearly a week before he had practically dragged himself from that dark, putrid room back to the fields, desperate to see the sun (though the light caused his head _violent _pains). Needless to say, when he'd encountered the man who'd given him the blow leading to that condition the next day, he'd made _sure _to keep his mouth shut.

_Not that it matters whether I speak or stay silent—they'll _always_ hate me._

Although he had been told that he would be treated the same as any of the other prisoners on the boat ride to Vollan, with no belongings, money, or history to his name, his fate had been well-broadcast enough throughout the Isles by the time he arrived to raise the ire of the existing inmates.

He wasn't sure if it was his former title or his royal airs that bothered them the most, at first—probably a combination of the two, he suspected—but he had _immediately _been singled out upon stepping foot in the colony, and learned his place among them quickly enough (save for the occasional "incident," of course).

Over time, their utter disdain for the Thirteenth Prince of the Southern Isles had abated into a general sort of malaise with his presence; still, he had the sense that they could never fully accept him there, as they forever viewed him as a thankless, spoiled brat who threw away a life of easy riches in a futile attempt to pursue an even _richer _existence.

_They're not unlike my own family, in that regard._

He held back a snort at the thought, his eyes narrowing as the pain in his shoulders—and his arms, now, too—flared up again, nearly making him wince. He grit his teeth and glanced down at the sack, full of apples, and descended the ladder for what seemed the hundredth time that day.

And as he reached the last rung of the ladder, the whistle blew—much to his surprise.

_It's already over?_

He supposed that sometimes, the minutes flew by faster than he gave them credit for, and shrugged a little to himself as he walked over to the barrow—only to find it being carted off just as he'd positioned his sack over it.

"Better luck next time," spat Arne, one of the more hostile men he worked with, as he roughly walked off with the wheelbarrow, some of his goons sneering at Hans as they made their way back to the farmhouse.

The former prince barely kept himself from scowling, adjusting the strap of the sack with unflinching resolve as he folded the ladder and tucked it under his arm with some effort.

_At least this work has made me stronger, _he thought, though that was hardly enough to console him as he trudged back, wiping sweat from his face with his free hand.

He looked down for a moment, his gaze hardening.

_This used to be my sword hand._

If there was one thing he missed about his life before Vollan—really, _truly _missed—it was the exhilaration of holding glinting steel in his fist. Sparring with his fellow crew on the deck of a ship or practicing by his lonesome in the palace training grounds had been one of his favourite past-times, and in the rare instances when he'd actually been able to use his skills in combat, he'd gotten a sort of thrill out of it that was nearly impossible to replicate by any other means.

_But then . . . that's how I got into this mess, isn't it?_

He could still remember how powerful he had felt in that moment—that moment when he'd swung the sword down as hard as he could, expecting the blade to slice effortlessly through the Ice Queen's pale, vulnerable neck—and his chest tightened at the memory.

_You were a fool then, Hans, and you're a fool _now.

It was easy to see, in retrospect, how incredibly _stupid _he had been; he'd spent enough time, anyway, going over each moment of those days in Arendelle in painstaking detail to realise when and how everything had gone horribly wrong.

_There's no point in reliving it over and over_ _again._

After all, what was done was done—and there he was, caked with dirt, stinking of sweat and burnt skin and who knew what else for the rest of his days as a result.

_Still . . . why did she do it?_

In spite of his determination to put it behind him, he felt continually nagged by a sense of bemusement—and, frankly, _annoyance—_at the knowledge that he was only in that hellish place as a result of the direct intervention by the Ice Queen herself. _She_ had been the one to request his change in sentence from lifelong imprisonment to, instead, a lifetime of hard labour in exile—a change of fate that he had, over many months, come to appreciate less and less.

_Is this _really_ better than prison?_

He doubted that, even knowing how awful the cells for those who committed violent crimes were purported to be. Somehow, he'd always thought that he'd end up in one of the "nicer" prisons within the royal palace reserved for one of the many courtiers that'd had the bad luck to fall out of the Queen's good graces. Even knowing what cruelty she and his brothers were capable of, he never actually expected that they would cast him into a cell alongside _real _murderers and rapists if they had the chance.

_Then again, _he reminded himself morosely as he finally reached the farmhouse, _none of them have inquired after me even _once _since I was dumped here._

It was this fact that made him rethink where his family would banish him to, had they gotten their way; perhaps, he reluctantly considered, the Queen of Arendelle had been correct in her judgment.

He glared at the notion as he propped up the ladder alongside the others in the building, his feet rustling the straw beneath them as he unceremoniously emptied the contents of his sack into the wheelbarrow by the haystacks. He rolled his shoulders a little as he finally shrugged off the sack, hanging it on a peg on the wall, where it would wait until the next day's toil.

But even if some part of him could accept that this was better than prison—after all, he could breathe in the fresh air, get plenty of exercise, and sleep on something other than a stone plank—his feeling of _irritation_ towards the decision of the young queen to "intercede on his behalf" had never fully gone away.

_And it's that pride that will keep you as _invisible _as you are now._

He stalked back to his quarters with a decidedly more unpleasant expression, his emerald eyes brooding.

_As invisible_ _as you always _have _been._

* * *

Hans breathed out a slow, relaxed sigh as he soaked in the cast-iron tub, his eyes closing.

_Finally._

He was there at last, after spending too many hours feeding the assorted animals, and then eating a bit of dinner later in the evening than usual. The latter had been, as always, a dull affair, sitting by his lonesome at the end of one of the long communal tables and forcing himself to eat his ration of chicken, soup, and bread as slowly as possible.

Even after all of that, it didn't matter to him that the water was only changed after every third (sometimes fourth or fifth) bather, each equally as grubby as himself—nor that it had become, as a result, somewhat murky before he'd even had the chance to step foot in it. Even the fact that the water had already gone somewhat cold couldn't take away his enjoyment of that short, precious time he had in the washroom, and he grabbed the bar of soap and a rough scrub from the shelf.

_At least they don't hide them from me anymore._

In the first few months of his exile, the others had been incredibly petty in their hostility towards him. Whether it was stealing food from his plate during mealtimes, tripping him while he was carrying a heavy load of crops or wood, or hiding the soap and scrub in the washroom before he got there—and thus rendering him incapable of _actually _cleaning himself—they had ensured that he would fall in line fast.

All he'd really had to do, in the end, was be patient; and while patience had never been one of his virtues, he had waited it out until, eventually, they grew bored of tormenting him. There were still the occasional snipes, of course—the apple cart being a prime example—but they were insignificant, and did little more than temporarily inconvenience him.

_I've dealt with far worse before, anyway._

He supposed he had his older brothers to thank for his high tolerance of these pranks, taunts, and schemes. Without their _training _him, the attempts by the halfwits on Vollan to provoke him might have succeeded far more often than they actually did.

He scrubbed his skin hard at the thought of his siblings, a sneer working its way into his features as he remembered their irritating, selfish faces. In a way, he was glad to be rid of them all, even if it meant that he was stuck on an island out in the middle of nowhere, slaving away at farming crops which were intended for _their_ consumption.

He grimaced in pain when he scrubbed one spot in particular on his forearm a little too roughly, the skin there turning a bright shade of red. Tenderly he dropped that arm to his side and focused on the other parts of his body with more precision—and, this time, _without_ thinking about his family, as it seemed to be the one thing that always managed to distract him from the task at hand.

It wasn't long before there came a loud, impatient knocking on the door, and he sighed again as he placed the soap and scrub back up on the shelf, drawing himself reluctantly out of the tub.

_Seems like less time than usual, today._

The knocking started again as he dried himself off with a sheet, and he frowned at the sound, pulling on his clothes from a chair nearby as quickly as he could.

_They can't wait even a _minute _longer, can they?_

At last, once he'd put on a clean change of garments—a white, long-sleeved shirt with a tan vest on top, brown trousers, and dark brown boots—he made his way to the door, opening it as calmly as he could.

He had to refrain from scowling at Arne, next in line; doing so, however, was difficult when he saw the man smirk smugly back at him, stepping past the former prince with a fresh bucket of hot water to bathe in following him.

_I _would _be the last man before the change, _he thought bitterly, but kept it from his face as he walked down the hall from the washroom back to the sleeping quarters. He passed a few others still waiting their turn, wanting to claim that as some sort of little victory for himself—after all, he used to be last _every _time.

The reality was, though, that he rarely took comfort in such trivial triumphs, even over the men he disliked the most. There didn't seem to be much of a point when, in the end, he would be returning to the same cramped, uncomfortable, shared room with the others, trying to sleep through the night without being awoken by violent snorers, sleepwalkers, or sleep-_talkers. _

This skill of being able to sleep soundly had, in fact, been one of the most difficult to acquire, since he'd been a light sleeper for as long as he could remember. It had been a kind of defensive mechanism growing up, giving him a few seconds—or even a few minutes—in advance before his brothers tried to spring some trick on him in the middle of the night. Often he had been able to escape just in the nick of time, crawling out his window or hiding in some remote part of his bedroom where they (usually) didn't find him.

By contrast, his bunkmates on the farm were usually too worn out, like him, by the end of the working day to do much besides spit out some nasty remark or other; still, it had taken many months before he'd been able to get more than a couple hours of sleep at night.

_It's not as if I sleep much _now_, though._

It was late, he realised as he glanced out the window by the mess hall—later than he'd thought it was—and he breathed out resignedly, his eyes falling to the floor.

_But there's nothing else to do._

He ran a hand through his still-wet hair, then scratched his stubbly face—which, had he been allotted more time in the washroom, he would have properly shaved—and then shuddered a little when he realised how tightly his clothes clung to his equally damp skin.

_Well, they'll dry soon enough, _he told himself, shrugging. Though the sun had long since set, the nights were still warm that time of year, and he could already feel some of the water evaporate off him as he reached the end of the hall and opened the door to the bunks.

It smelled _slightly _better than usual in the room on account of it being bath night, though not enough to rid it of its permanent, stale scent. Although most of the men were already asleep, a few remained awake—but even these only talked quietly amongst themselves, read the religious texts left for them by his "aunt and uncle" (the only such texts allowed in the whole place), or stared into space, doing nothing at all.

He himself preferred the latter of these options, since he couldn't be bothered to converse with any of the fools he lived with (frankly, his trusted horse, Sitron, had been far better company—and _oh, how he missed him then!)_ and he had read and re-read those same, boring books so many times by then that he could recite them practically by heart—not that he had any desire to do so.

_If I did, I might spoil what happens next for these cretins, _he thought, hiding a smug grin as he watched some of them slowly mouth out the words in the book to themselves in silence.

He landed with a _thud _on his back after climbing up to his bunk, and he shut his eyes for a moment, breathing in (through his mouth of course, lest he ruin the moment) the humid night air. Even knowing that the eyes of the others were on him all the while—likely narrowed, with spite buried deep in their squinty irises—he simply didn't care.

_I _can't _care, _he corrected himself after a moment, fighting to keep his eyes closed as his forehead wrinkled. _I can't let them have _power _over me._

With that mantra replaying itself in his head, he began to give in to sleep; nevertheless, he could still hear the Queen's voice, sharp and clear as daylight, ringing in his ears.

_You can't let them win_, _Hans._

* * *

A rough shove in his side woke him up a few hours later, and Hans nearly hit the ceiling in surprise.

_"What—what do you _want?" he hissed groggily, placing a hand protectively against the back of his head. He peered into the darkness with bleary eyes—though, in truth, he was more concerned that the others hadn't awoken than he was with finding out whom, exactly, had so rudely jabbed him.

_They'll be _intolerable _tomorrow if they don't sleep._

Once he had confirmed that, for the most part, no one else was up, his eyes finally focused back on the intruder, his gaze narrowing in recognition.

_"Well, if it isn't _Uncle _Edvar—"_

_"Come on," _the man snapped impatiently, cutting off Hans's attempt to be smart. _"I don't have time for your _insolence_ right now."_

Hans was sorely tempted to return the order with something equally rude; however, seeing the grave look on the man's face, he refrained at the last moment, biting back a sigh as he swung his legs over the side of the bed, climbing down as quietly as he could.

_Good thing I fell asleep before I could change, _he thought as he landed on the ground. _Would've been too noisy, otherwise._

He straightened out his vest—something of an old habit he'd never been able to kick, he supposed, though it _hardly _required the constant maintenance of a formal jacket—and ignored the dirty look his "uncle" shot him as the man turned around to open the door.

Just before he could follow Edvard out the door, however, he locked stares with none other than Arne in the darkness—that loathsome, lumbering _toad _of a man—and the look in the brute's eyes was easy to read.

_I'll make you pay for this, _Prince.

He merely smirked back, knowing it would infuriate the idiot; somehow, walking through that door after Edvard gave him the smallest feeling of _power_ over the others, even if he didn't actually know what the point of the visit was—nor _where,_ exactly, they were headed.

His smirk dropped as this fact dawned more pressingly upon him, though he followed the man in front all the same as they left the farmhouse and crossed a small field to the main house, entering through a side door.

Hans's brow furrowed as they stepped inside, his eyes suddenly suspicious.

_Why are we in the _main _house?_

He had only ever been inside once, on the day of his arrival, when his "relatives" informed him of what would be expected of him on Vollan and what behaviour they would (and would _not) _tolerate. Since then, it was completely off-limits to the exiles, though the smell of good food and the heat of warm fires during winter often wafted outdoors, driving them all near-mad with resentment and envy.

Needless to say, then, that to be brought to the main house—and in the _middle of the night—_was a strange thing indeed, though he hardly had the time to ask what the purpose of the bizarre rendezvous was before he found himself being led into the sitting room, and there, in front of him, was . . .

He swallowed.

**"M—mother."**

The Queen of the Southern Isles sat with a nonchalant expression in an armchair by the unlit fireplace, and "Aunt" Agnes stood just across from her with a tray, a pot of tea and some bread sitting atop it.

She turned to her son with slight surprise as she took in his appearance.

"My, how you've _changed!"_ she remarked lightly, and gestured for Agnes to set the tray down by her on a small table. Her eyes remained on Hans as his "aunt" poured the tea. "Tan, strong, and . . . did you grow _taller, _as well?"

She daintily lifted her cup as Agnes walked away, and the common woman sent Hans a reproving glare as she returned to watch the proceedings from the other side of the room.

The Queen gave his "uncle" an approving smile. "You've done well with him, Edvard," she complimented him, sipping her tea. "You've been working him hard, I hope?"

The man nodded humbly—something Hans was _sure _he would never see again—before he replied.

"We do the best we can with what we were given, Your Majesty," he said simply, "but I'm honoured you should think that we've done well."

The scene reminded Hans more of someone purchasing a particularly nice cut of lamb from the butcher's than a mother seeing her son after many months apart, and his lip curled.

"Why are you here, _Your Majesty?" _He crossed his arms, staring back at her spitefully. "Simply to gloat?" A cruel grin tugged at his lips. "Or has the old man finally kicked the bucket?"

The Queen's good humour vanished for a moment, her gaze coldly regarding him. After a pause, she calmly rested the cup back on the tray, and looked sweetly upon his "aunt" and "uncle."

"Edvard, Agnes," she said gently, her hands primly folded in her lap, "would you mind leaving us?"

He nearly scoffed at her kind tone, his nose wrinkling with an unbidden sneer.

_Maybe one day I'll be as good an actor as you,_ _mother _dearest.

The two bowed with stony expressions and departed the room, closing the door quietly behind them.

Even when left alone, however—and contrary to his own expectations—the Queen remained just as mild as before, and gestured to the chair across from her.

"Please sit, Hans."

He frowned. "I'd rather not."

Her lip twitched at this, and he smirked.

_Good. Let's stop playing pretend, shall we?_

"Oh, don't be stubborn, dear," she persisted. "Just _sit."_

There was an edge to that last word, and that small reveal was enough to convince him, finally, to do as she asked.

She smiled, satisfied. "That's better, now, isn't it?"

He stared back, uninterested in her false niceties. "I don't have time for your _games, _Mother," he said bluntly, watching as her expression dropped. "Just get to the point."

"My, aren't we _impatient _tonight," she tutted, sipping her tea as she gestured to the bread on the tray. "Won't you have some? I'm _sure_ they don't feed you enough here," she added knowingly, a fierce glint in her stare—the stare, he knew, that was so much like his own.

He looked away, ignoring the complaining of his stomach. "I'm fine."

She sighed as she placed the cup back down again. "If you say so."

He glared at her.

_You can't fool _me, _Your Majesty._

"So I'll ask you again—_why _are you here?"

The Queen looked up at him at this repeated question, and their gazes met for a while in silence.

In hers, he could see a real, lingering darkness—a quiet one, but there nonetheless—and he wondered if, in fact, he had been right about the King.

_After all, _he mused, _why _else _would she bother to come here in person, unless—_

His eyes widened slightly, and then narrowed again.

_Perhaps it isn't the King, but one of my brothers?_

He wanted to say that the possibility of that being the case bothered him, even a little; the truth, of course, was that it didn't faze him in the slightest.

"You're aware that the Queen of Arendelle is visiting our humble homeland, I presume?"

He froze at the question.

_The Queen of Arende—_**Elsa **_is visiting?_

His gaze hardened after the shock abated. "You _know_ I wasn't," he said, his mouth suddenly feeling dry.

She shrugged indifferently at his accusing tone. "Well, I wasn't sure if news of her visit had travelled this _far _south," she returned with a lilting taunt in her voice, holding back a smile. "But no matter. Now you know. In fact," she continued, "she arrived earlier this afternoon at the port of Strande."

He swallowed at the revelation. "Did she?" he asked flatly.

The Queen went on with a pleasant expression, though she watched her son's obvious discomfort with keen eyes throughout.

"Yes! I sent some of your brothers to meet her there and bring her back to the palace, where we gave her a tour, fed her dinner, had a ball," her eyes flashed with amusement, "but she went back to her quarters a bit earlier than expected—she was quite tired from the long day, I suspect, the poor dear."

She couldn't help but stare at him with a kind of cruel enjoyment as she added: "It's a good thing we gave her _your_ old room, refitted with all the newest and most beautiful furnishings a guest of honour could desire." A small but Cheshire grin pulled at the edges of her pink lips. "I'm sure she's sleeping soundly there right now, having _peaceful_ dreams."

Hans's bare hands twitched in his lap before he clasped them firmly together.

_She's just trying to get a rise out of you._

His brow furrowed.

_Don't give her that kind of satisfaction_.

He looked up at her with a grim expression.

_Don't give her that _power _over you._

"And what does any of this have to do with _me?" _

The Queen seemed surprised, at first, by the question; then, her smile relaxed into a more genuine one, her eyes cool but interested.

"You really _have _grown up a bit, haven't you, Hans?" she remarked, a little impressed. "Well, better late than _never_, I suppose."

He regarded her coldly, and said nothing.

_Don't let her _win.

"Fine, fine," she said after a minute, taking another sip of her now lukewarm tea. "I'll 'get to the point,' as you so _crudely_ put it earlier."

She paused to look him straight in the eye, and her expression was _finally _entirely serious. "As you might have guessed," she began again, "her visit to the kingdom did not just happen by some happy accident—we had sent her several letters over the course of the past year inviting her to court, in fact, making sure, in _every _instance, to emphasise that **you **were being properly punished for your crimes—and that, should she choose to visit, **you** would be _nowhere _near the palace."

He merely raised a tired eyebrow at how forcefully she spoke.

"Yes, we get it—_I'm_ the bad guy; _I'm _the reason Queen Elsa refused to return your letters for so long," he commented dryly. "But now she's here, so . . . obviously I wasn't _that _much of an obstacle, now was I?"

The Queen glared at her son. "Enough to delay her for nearly a _year," _she returned, irritated. "Anyway," she continued, brushing off the interruption, "our continued assurances to the Queen _no doubt _played an important role in her eventual decision—and we had _assumed, _upon her arrival, that she was still comfortable with the arrangements as stated in our correspondence over the past two months or so."

His brow furrowed in bemusement. "What do you mean?"

The look she gave him in reply was indecipherable; and he, unable to read it, assumed the worst, his face turning ashen.

_She wants me _dead.

His mother snorted suddenly, jolting him out of his frightened stupor.

"Oh please, Hans—don't look so _traumatised." _She looked entertained by his pale features. "It's nothing like _that."_ She added mysteriously, after a moment: "Actually, it's . . . quite the opposite."

Some colour returned to his face, though he felt as puzzled as before by her cryptic words.

"What—what do you mean, 'the opposite'?" he managed finally, his eyes tight.

She smoothed back a strand of her auburn hair that had gotten loose from its braid, and eyed him with a sudden, penetrating intensity.

"She wants you to return to court."

He stared at her uncomprehendingly.

_What?_

She continued as if she hadn't just said the most absurd thing in the world, speaking in an almost _infuriatingly _casual manner.

"Yes, well, I was just as surprised as you, at first," she said, looking into the distance as she recalled the incident, "especially since she made the request so suddenly, and in front of all the court!" The Queen's expression betrayed her admiration for the young woman. "It was quite remarkable, really."

Hans's face heated at the remark, hardly processing his mother's babble.

_She . . . asked for me to come back? Today? In front of the _entire _court?_

"Of course your father and I tried to dissuade her from such a course of action, but she would not be persuaded otherwise." She gazed thoughtfully down at her tea, which she now took up again in her hands. "She really is a determined young lady, that _Snow Queen _of Arendelle."

_A "determined young lady"?_

It was too unfathomable in every possible respect—Queen Elsa being at the court of the Southern Isles, announcing that she wanted the traitor prince to return, and somehow charming his mother, the indomitable Southern Queen, all at once—and so he shook his head, wincing.

"And did she . . . explain _why _she would make such a request?" he grit out after a time, glaring up at her. He had forgotten, evidently, how talking to his mother could be like pulling teeth.

She breathed out her nose at the question, annoyed by his tone. "She _did_, actually," she said, and relaxed a little. "It was something . . . something about how she wanted to 'face the past' and 'move forward with confidence,' if I remember correctly."

The coy smile that he hated returned to her unnaturally youthful face. "And with a reason like that—how could we refuse her?"

His hand moved to ruffle his red hair in frustrated incomprehension.

_She wants to "face the past"? "Move forward"? What does that even _mean?

His brow darkened, and a look of realisation passed over his features.

_She just wants to _use _me—to see me face-to-face and "prove herself," or some useless _drivel _like that. _

"And so what? You've come to collect me so that I can _entertain_ the Queen for a few weeks, and then you'll dump me back here, just as before?" he deadpanned disbelievingly.

Dark amusement flitted across his mother's irises. "Something like that," she replied simply.

He went cold at this, though he didn't allow himself to shudder.

_Not in front of _her.

His jaw tightened.

_She sees _everything, _after all._

"And what _exactly _am I meant to do?" he inquired sarcastically. "Stand around like one of your useless Royal Guardsmen while she . . . '_faces the past'?" _He sneered at the idea, leaning back in the chair and resting his head tensely in his hand. "It all sounds _incredibly _thrilling, Mother, but you'll understand if I have to refuse, of course."

The Queen scowled instantly, and Hans grinned.

_Oh—that seems to have hit a nerve. Good._

"Don't be stupid, _boy," _she snapped, setting her now-empty cup back on the tray more harshly than before. "You have no choice in the matter."

His eyes narrowed at her just as viciously. "Of course I don't," he retorted. "I never _have _had one."

She laughed, suddenly—an icy, short _bark_ of a laugh that raised hairs on the back of his neck—and her scowl returned full-force afterwards.

"Don't be so _dramatic, _Hans," she reproached him, her teeth baring themselves unattractively as she spoke. "You did this to _yourself, _and thenceforth you will suffer the consequences of your actions."

He quietly glowered back at her, after this; in his silence, she went on, and her words cut into him savagely.

"You should have been satisfied with what you had—and you already had the _world _at your fingertips," she said, her disappointment thick. "But _no_—you had to go and be the ungrateful _brat _that you are, and ruin any chance you might have had for lasting contentment."

Enflamed by her castigation, he suddenly felt unrepentant. "And what was that 'contentment,' Mother? Marrying some grovelling courtier's daughter like my brothers and remaining in this little, _insignificant_ kingdom for the rest of my days? Watching as those same brothers occupied every _meaningless _position of power, leaving me with no chance of ever even achieving success on their _pathetic _level?"

His scowl was just as fierce as hers then, and just as stubborn. "At least I _tried _to reach for something better—and _you_, of all people, should understand that."

She looked unimpressed by his speech, her tone just as harshly judgmental as before.

"Yes, you tried—and you **failed**."

It was a bitter reminder—bitter enough, even, to make him drop his petulant façade, if only for a moment.

_You're a _failure, _Hans—and that's all you'll ever be._

She sighed suddenly, taking him off-guard. He guessed that she had read the defeat in his eyes.

"It's a pity, you know," she said regretfully, not looking at him. "If you had only been a bit more persistent, you could have won the heart of the Snow Queen herself."

He scoffed at the notion. "You obviously don't know her that well to say something so _naïve."_

She raised a sceptical eyebrow. "And did _you _ever really 'know her that well' before you wrote her off as a lost cause, Hans?" she challenged him, frowning. "You were far too impatient—but, I suppose," she said resignedly, "that you must have inherited that _unfortunate _trait from me."

Hans snorted. "Impatient or not, it doesn't take long to realise one,_ simple _fact about _Queen_ _Elsa_ of Arendelle," he remarked bitterly, and snapped:

"That _no one _can really love her—since she can't even love **herself**."

The Queen stared back at him then with eyes that could freeze the sun.

"If you honestly believe that," she said stonily, "then you're even more of a fool than I thought possible."

She rose from her chair after a tense moment, her hands still folded in front of her as neatly as before. "Now come," she said stiffly, and walked towards the door, "our ship is waiting at the beach."

Hans shook a little, seeing how quickly she had shifted in her personalities once again; somehow, he managed to stand his ground.

"No," he refused. "I'm not going."

She whipped back around and walked up to him until they were mere inches from each other, her hands dangerously coiled at her sides.

"You _will_ follow me, **now**," she repeated, her tone more threatening than he had ever heard it before, "or so help me, I will put you in the dungeons, where you _belong—_and this time, I'll make certain that no _plea _from Queen Elsa will save you from the miserable fate you deserve."

He could see that she was waiting, then—her brutal, unflinching stare boring into his own—and though he desperately wanted to defeat her, to finally _overcome _her unbearable force of will . . . he merely averted his gaze from hers, and said nothing.

_I can't win. Not this time._

Mollified by this, she turned back around again, opened the door, and exchanged a few words with Agnes and Edvard in quiet out in the hall. Soon after, she gestured rudely for her son to follow, and he did, not sparing his "distant relations" even a parting glance.

_I'll see them soon enough, anyway._

They exited the house through the main entrance, where a group of Royal Guardsmen waited in stoic silence. He recognised a few, though they only returned his glances with looks of disapproval and disgust; he easily shrugged those off, turning his gaze instead back to the front of the group, where a carriage was being readied.

The Queen glanced back at Hans briefly before gesturing for him to step inside the carriage after her, and the guards made a point not to assist him.

He nearly rolled his eyes.

_As if I need help getting into a _carriage.

It was a strange feeling, nonetheless, since he couldn't remember the last time he had ridden a horse, much less ridden inside a vehicle _pulled _by horses. His mother, however, didn't seem to care in the least that he might have had some trouble adjusting back to this reality, and spoke suddenly as the journey to the beach began at a bumpy, rapid pace.

"You're to live in the servants' quarters for the duration of Queen Elsa's visit," she informed him brusquely, "and you're to bathe and shave once we arrive back on Strande, after which you will be given a change of clothes to wear while at court."

He looked out the window of the carriage sullenly. _Oh, joy. New clothes—likely also made for _peasants.

"You will remain confined to your room and under constant surveillance by several members of the Guard outside of any events during which the Queen _specifically_ requests your presence," she continued, ignoring his brooding look, "and you will likewise be under watch at these events, whether they be dinners, or balls, or lectures."

"I sound like quite a handful," he observed mockingly, earning a sharp glare.

"And _if," _she cautioned, "the Queen at any time feels uncomfortable on account of your temper or _language_ towards her, you may rest assured that I'll have you on the next boat back to Vollan."

Her brow lifted. "Is that understood?"

He was too angry to look at her. _"Yes,"_ he replied nastily, scowling.

Her lips were thin, and her expression fraught with aggravation.

"Say it **properly**, Hans."

He turned to her, finally, and his teeth set in a hard line.

"Yes, _Your Majesty."_


	9. Chapter 8: The Façade

**Author's Note:** Ahhh you guys are so incredibly awesome it hurts. I love your feedback, and I'm excited that _you're _excited to know more about not just Hans, but also all his brothers and their families. This chapter is allll Therese, alll the time, and some Elsa inner angst because _reasons. _In the future, however, if my schedule in real life gets clogged up and writing full chapters on time becomes difficult, I may do "interludes" with short stories about Hans's brothers (how they met their wives, their relationships with Therese growing up, Hans's childhood, more insight into Hans's time in exile, excerpts from the year in-between the events of _Frozen _and _Winter's End _in Arendelle, and more about Therese and Oskar). If you guys are okay with this idea, let me know!

Also, thanks to JuliaBC for the question about the pronunciation of Therese's name, which is: "Teh-raze-uh." Hope that helps!**  
**

Lastly, stay up-to-date with all the latest news, reviews, fanart and headcanons for _Winter's End _using the #WintersEndFrozen tag on my tumblr, **calenheniel**. (Link on my profile page.)

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**Chapter 8: The Façade**

She tried not to stare at Therese too much—or for too _long_—over breakfast the next morning.

_And I want _you _to fight too, Elsa._

She sipped her tea, but nearly burnt her tongue on it; as a result, the liquid froze over inside the cup, and her brow furrowed in consternation as she set it down again, trying to look as impassive as ever.

"Did you sleep well, Your Majesty?" one of the younger twins—Emil, she believed his name was—inquired from down the table.

_I want you to be_ strong.

She managed a nod, though she gripped her utensils more tightly than intended in her gloved hands.

"Very well, thank you," she replied.

_You can't pay them any mind, Elsa._

His twin, Henrik, smiled at her. "We're glad to hear it," he returned, and added gently: "Is Sir Leif feeling better?"

Elsa glanced at the empty chair next to her, and looked embarrassed by her adviser's absence. Considering how drunk he had probably gotten the night before, though, she supposed it was a good thing he was still in bed.

"He's well, thank you for asking," she said simply, not wanting to elaborate.

_Face them all without fear._

"Well, if he needs to rest for the morning, that's perfectly fine," the Queen added, presenting a pleasant smile to her guest. "I'm sure we can arrange a tour of the library or some other facility within the palace for him when he awakens."

Elsa bowed her head gratefully. "That would be most kind of you."

The King's smile matched his wife's. "The room was to your liking, then?"

_Remember, Elsa—_never _give in._

She swallowed a bit of potato without chewing, and her face reddened from the effort of keeping the food down without choking. She glanced up at the King's bemused expression as she calmed herself down, ignoring the painful feeling in her throat.

"Yes, very much so," she answered, plastering on a smile. "It felt like—like home."

Therese's look betrayed only a hint of scepticism. "Well, that was our aim," she said, smiling warmly at the King. "We're happy to hear that we succeeded, at least, in this regard."

Elsa wasn't sure if she was supposed to reply to that—and really, she had no desire to, since her throat was sore—but before she could think of something to say, another voice interceded.

"And what about _you, _Mother?" Tor asked, darkly amused. "Did you . . . 'sleep well,' too?"

Therese reddened, irritated; and Elsa noticed, suddenly, that beneath a layer of thick makeup, the outlines of deep, dark circles were just visible under the Queen's emerald eyes.

"Don't be _flippant, _Tor," she rebuked the young man, buttering her breakfast roll agitatedly. "I slept _very_ well, thank you."

His expression didn't change as he leaned on the table, staring at her just as impudently as before.

"Really? Because you seem _exhausted."_

Finally, the Queen glared at her son, unable to contain her ire. "I'm _fine," _she repeated thinly, meeting his stare—and their eyes locked for what seemed an eternity—until finally, Tor looked away, seemingly bored with the contest.

Therese's cheeks were still pinked with embarrassment when she faced Elsa. "I apologise for my son's . . . _bad temper," _she said, an edge to her words. "It seems that he cannot behave, even when we have _honoured guests _sitting at our table."

He snorted at her accusing tone, and she glowered at the sound—but he didn't bother to look back at her, and so Therese relented, sighing as she daintily nibbled on her buttered bread.

Elsa watched with a mixture of fascination and disinterest—the former borne as a natural reaction to the curious proceedings, and the latter of her general state of distractedness. After all, she had hardly been able to get her head around the events of the night previous—let _alone_ to try and decipher every little nasty barb or look exchanged between the members of the Southern Isles clan.

_There's just too many of them._

She found her gaze once more drawn to the Queen sitting across from her, the woman's eyes oddly meditative as they focused on her food and drink.

_Did it . . . did it even _happen?

She had been wondering that, in truth, ever since she'd returned to her bedroom the night before. However, sitting in such close proximity to the woman with whom she'd shared that somewhat _surreal_ experience, she knew the answer to that question.

_Of _course_ it did. _

Elsa quickly bit into a soft, sweet roll just as Therese's eyes shifted up again, making certain that their gazes did not meet.

_And she—she said _all _of those things, too._

She didn't know whether to feel moved by the Queen's sage words of advice, offered so freely (and with such seemingly genuine affection)—or to feel even _more _intimidated than she had been at their first meeting by the woman's incredibly sharp insight into Elsa's character, speculative as it was. It had all just been too _eerie, _Elsa supposed, to feel comfortable with—especially when she considered that the Queen . . . that the Queen—

—_said the same thing that _Anna _did before I left Arendelle._

Even more than her echoing of Gerda's counsel, the Queen's repetition of Anna's—and in nearly the _exact_ same manner as her sister had originally given it—somehow chilled Elsa to the bone in a way that winter never could.

_How did she know?_

She knew that wasn't the right question, really, since it was _impossible _for the Queen to have known what Anna had only whispered to her in confidence. Nonetheless, there was something altogether discomfiting about the situation she now found herself in—and not even the sweetest of the Southern Isles's sweet rolls could change that fact.

"So, when do we set out for our tour of the city, then?"

Elsa froze in surprise, thinking that the Queen's query was directed at her; then, seeing Anders and Ivar straighten up down the table from her, she relaxed again, relieved.

"In fifteen minutes, Your Majesty," Ivar replied succinctly as he glanced at his pocket watch. "_If _we all finish our meals by then, that is."

He seemed to be staring at Elsa with particular emphasis as he said this, and she blinked, looking down at her plate—only to realise that she had barely eaten a thing on it.

She blushed sheepishly. "No need to delay on my account," she said, and cut into her food quickly, "I'll be done soon, I assure you—"

"_Please_, don't rush, Your Majesty," Therese interjected with a smile, and shot a reproachful look at Ivar from the corner of her eye. "And don't feel as if you need to eat everything on your plate, either—I promise you won't offend us by having a small appetite."

Elsa smiled a little at this reassurance, and the King nodded at his wife's words. "She's quite right, Queen Elsa," he said, picking at the last scraps on his own plate. "You're free to leave whatever you can't finish."

"We can always feed the leftovers to the dogs, anyway," Kristian added with a lopsided grin—and, as per usual, everyone stared at him judgmentally until he finally looked down, chastened.

Elsa fidgeted a little uncomfortably at the tension. "I—I'm grateful that you're all so understanding," she thanked them awkwardly, her smile tight. "I'm just . . . not feeling very hungry this morning, I suppose."

With all their eyes now on her, she explained nervously, in haste: "I haven't had much of an appetite since the rough sea journey here, to be perfectly honest."

Some murmurs of understanding echoed around the table at this, and Elsa nearly sighed, allowing herself another nibble on her roll as a reward.

_Why does everything have to be so _dramatic _here? _

She breathed out slowly to steel herself as she put on her nicest countenance. "Will all of you be joining us on the tour, then?" she asked politely, glancing around the sea of masculine faces—most mid-mouthful. Mathias was one of the few who could answer immediately, and his brow was just as dark and unhappy as she remembered it being at the ball.

"I'll be returning home today, Your Majesty, on account of my daughter's . . . _illness," _he said at length, a frown deeply etched into his features. "I will be at some of the other events over the next two weeks of your visit, of course, but—"

"No need to explain," Elsa stopped him, and nodded sympathetically. "I understand. You should be with your family."

Several pairs of sceptical eyes—and their accompanying raised eyebrows—attended this exchange, though the Snow Queen merely found the expressions more irritating than anything else.

_I really _can't_ be asked to figure out what they mean._

"I'll be off this morning as well," Magnus went next, wearing a stony countenance as he spoke, "as I'm due to attend a meeting with my daughters' tutor."

She remembered the faces of his girls, so courteous and quiet, and she supposed that their father kept them busy with their schoolwork, as he seemed to be quite the stoic and studious man himself.

_As might be expected of the Crown Prince _and _a Council member, _she thought while nodding to him.

"Please say hello to your daughters for me, Your Highness," she said kindly, and he bowed his head in return.

"Of course, Your Majesty."

"We're also unable to attend, unfortunately," Henrik said after a moment, looking over at his twin.

Emil returned the glance, and continued: "We have to prepare the sermon for service tomorrow, so . . ."

Elsa blinked, staring at their simple black robes and white cravats and suddenly remembering the date—_it's Saturday, isn't it? Which makes tomorrow . . ._—and then nodded again in recognition.

"Of course," she acknowledged, smiling politely.

"I won't be able to, either," Johannes jumped in from the end of the table, carefully brushing a stray, golden strand of hair from his face, _"Your Majesty_. Naval duties call."

Elsa was about to nod again, but Kristian cut in, sending a frown his younger brother's way. "You mean _we _won't be able to attend," he corrected the twelfth prince, who merely glared back. He turned to Elsa with a small grin. "We're _both _in the Navy, you see—so we _both _have our duties today, Your Majesty."

Elsa held back a smirk at the displeasure written all over the younger, blonde-haired prince's features at being interrupted—and at being so publicly _embarrassed._

"I see," she said, hoping her amusement didn't come through in her tone.

Harald cleared his throat a bit further up, his look being the first that seemed _genuinely_ apologetic for missing the second day's first big event.

"Forgive me, Your Majesty," he began, "but I have some business to attend to while I'm on Strande—I hope you don't mind." He bowed his head contritely.

She waved away the formality, smiling—she liked Prince Harald well enough since their first meeting, anyway, to shrug off the vagueness of his excuse.

"I don't mind at all," she told him, and inquired: "Will I still be seeing you tonight, at the ball?"

His eyes brightened at the query. "Of course, Your Majesty—Annette and I wouldn't miss it for the _worl—"_

"I'm not going either," Tor interrupted, drolly. Seeing his older brother's scowl, he added, almost as an afterthought: "_Your Majesty."_

Elsa could see why so many of the others always seemed aggravated with the eleventh in line—his unceasing moodiness, if nothing else, had an uncanny ability to kill whatever "nice" atmosphere had been built up prior to it.

The Queen seemed _especially _worked up by the brooding young man's ending comment, her shoulders high with annoyance. "Well, is that _everyone, _then?" she asked sarcastically, her eyes narrowing as some of the princes looked down in discomfort. "Good."

Elsa checked, out of absent curiosity, to see who among the brothers were _actually _coming along; and, upon tallying them up, she felt strangely relieved, as they were all personalities she had dealt with before.

_Ivar and Anders will be there as the guides . . . Fredrik and Adrian too, leading the Royal Guard . . . and then the King and Queen, obviously, as well._

She paused, and swallowed.

_And _me.

"It's just about time, now, Your Majesty," the Queen informed Elsa, who nodded quickly, and moved to rise from her seat—but the older woman's raised hand stopped her midway, and she sat again, staring at the Queen curiously.

Therese smoothed back some stray strands of hair as if to calm herself, and looked directly at Elsa as she spoke. "Before we depart for the tour," she began cautiously, "there's something we should make you aware of, Queen Elsa."

The young woman's brows stitched together in bemusement, but she said nothing, allowing the Queen to continue.

"As requested, the traitor—formerly _Prince_ Hans—will be delivered by boat from Vollan Island sometime this afternoon to Strande," she said judiciously, "and will be confined to a room in the servants' quarters while in residence at the palace."

As Elsa's eyes widened at this—_I hadn't expected them to bring him the very next_ **day**, she thought, her heart racing anxiously—Therese continued in just as serious a tone.

"Obviously, the traitor will _not _be joining us for any public events or private meals unless specifically requested by _you, _Your Majesty," she assured her, "but even if he _is _in attendance, do not feel under any pressure to approach him alone, as you will always have guardsmen by your side—yours and _ours_—to accompany you."

Elsa wondered if she was nodding, suddenly feeling dizzy. "Of—of course," she responded blankly, not really looking at the Queen.

Therese continued in spite of her guest's blank expression. "And will you . . . permit him to be present at tonight's ball?"

Elsa's body felt like lead, and she answered without thinking.

"Y—yes, I think so."

The Queen nodded. "Very well then," she replied quickly, and motioned to a servant at the back of the dining hall. "We'll make sure he's properly attired in advance."

Elsa felt her head bob in acknowledgment. "Thank you, Your Majesties."

"Please," the King cut in, trying to lighten the mood, "just call us by our first names—Therese and Oskar," he requested, smiling weakly. "It's much easier than having to say 'Your Majesties' all the time, isn't it?"

Therese smiled tightly at her husband, and pressed his hand. "Yes, we would like that."

The Snow Queen's lips felt like ice.

"Then please—call me _Elsa."_

* * *

She had genuinely wanted to enjoy the tour that morning—the mingling with the people of the Southern Isles, the patronising of their various goods and wares, the absorbing of the Isles's history and culture through Ivar and Anders's lecture—but the Queen's announcement at breakfast (and Elsa's own, mystifying acquiescence to it) had a way of replaying itself over and _over _again in her head until she was unable to focus on anything else.

_As requested, the traitor . . . will be delivered by boat from Vollan Island sometime this_ _afternoon to Strande._

She had done her best in the meantime to appear as if nothing at all was wrong, whether by nodding at all of the appropriate times when pertinent information was relayed by Ivar or Anders (though they argued in a passive-aggressive manner throughout over the specific details contained within said information); expressing concern when the King left the tour early to retire to the palace, too tired to continue by foot; laughing politely when the Queen made the stray joke or remark about the city, always in good humour; and abiding Adrian's flirtatious comments, which—on top of everything else on her mind—only served to irritate her.

_. . . and he will be confined to a room in the servants' quarters while in residence at the palace._

She pursed her lips in thought as they paused to take a break by a flower stall which Therese was rather fond of—this much was apparent, anyway, by the familiar way in which she greeted the stall owner, an older woman whose fading brown eyes lit up at the sight of the Queen.

"Your Majesty," she said, trying to bow on hobbled feet. Therese gently grabbed her shoulders, stopping her from dipping too low.

"Honestly, Josefine," she said with an earnest, genuine smile—the same sort she had been wearing all through the morning, Elsa noted—and continued, "you know there's no need to be so formal with _me." _She gestured to her guest. "Actually, I wanted to introduce you to a very special young woman: Queen Elsa of Arendelle. You've heard of her, surely?"

Josefine tried to curtsy again, surprised. "Oh, Your Majesty! What an honour to receive you at my humble stall!"

Elsa nodded civilly, smiling a little. "Not at all. It's a pleasure to meet you."

_And will you . . . permit him to be present at _tonight's_ ball?_

She had to pull back a frown from creeping onto her lips as Josefine beamed back, though the old woman was quickly taken off-guard again when she recognised the princes in tow.

"Oh, Queen Therese! You didn't tell me you were going to bring so many of your sons—I would have made tea at home, and—"

Therese waved off the suggestion, still smiling. "No need, my dear woman. We are giving Queen Elsa a tour of the city, and you know that no tour is complete without stopping to look at your _beautiful_ flowers."

Josefine blushed at this. "Ah, you're too kind, Your Majesty!" Thinking for a moment, she gathered up a bouquet of purple and white geraniums, and presented them to Elsa. "Please, Queen Elsa," she said, her head bowed, "take these."

Elsa blinked in surprise, reddening; then, gently, she took the flowers, and nodded gratefully.

"They're—they're lovely. Thank you," she said, and Josefine patted her gloved hands warmly.

"It's my thanks to _you_ for visiting our kingdom, Your Majesty," she smiled, wrinkles bunching up along the sides of her mouth as evidence of her pleasant character. "And we very much hope you'll return again, someday."

Elsa merely nodded at this as Josefine and Therese fell into conversation, and she looked down at the bouquet, relaxing at the sight of it. It wasn't the first token of gratitude handed to her that day in the city—actually, it was one of many thus far, as every butcher, baker and candlestick maker had been eager to give the visiting queen a sample of their goods—but, somehow, the flowers had made the best impression on her.

_Because they remind me of Anna_.

She and her sister had taken to long turns around the castle gardens over the past year, not to mention hikes in the mountains and in the forests around the fjord. The two shared an unexpected love of greenery, and had even started planting flowers all around the castle grounds together as a kind of "project" to keep them close (though it had taken Elsa some convincing at first, since she had feared, for a long time, that she would freeze the plants without meaning to).

_I wish she were here._

A pang of homesickness hit her then—but it was followed, just as quickly, by a wave of dread.

_No—_he'll _be here tonight,_ _so . . . it's best she's at home._

She thought again of the letters she would write her sister in the coming days—letters about what she did and said at court, and why she did and said those things (though she hardly understood the reasons herself)—letters she would try to send, and letters that would likely be held up at port, unable to be carried back across the dangerous sea.

_She'll be so worried._

Her brows furrowed as she imagined Anna nervously awaiting news from her back in Arendelle—and, equally, the anxious expressions of Kai and the Council as no word arrived back from the Isles for days, if not _weeks_.

_But it's best they don't know._

Naturally, then, she thought of _his _arrival—of seeing him after so many months, of what she would say to him at the ball that evening, of what _he _would say to _her._ She tried to picture his face again—the dark auburn hair, the green eyes—but every time she did so, the Queen's visage from her coronation portrait was the only one which came to mind.

_Not surprising, really._

She couldn't help but release a soft sigh as her worries weighed too heavily on her, not noticing when a familiar Royal Guardsman sidled up beside where she stood a few paces away from the Queen and Josefine, his sea-green eyes adopting a sheen of concern.

"Are you feeling all right, Your Grace?"

She jumped a little in surprise to see him there, and pinked at being caught in her own brooding.

"I—I'm fine, Prince Adrian," she said after a moment, gripping the flowers tightly. "Just a bit tired, perhaps."

He didn't seem to believe her entirely—not that she could blame him—but he was as diplomatic as ever. "Well, the tour _has _gone on for quite a while, hasn't it?" he remarked to her quietly, frowning. "And for some reason, Mother always _insists _on going by foot rather than carriage—but then," he continued, shrugging, "that is how she earns her popularity with the people, I suppose."

Adrian glanced at Elsa sympathetically. "Still, you are our honoured guest—and you're obviously not used to the heat," he commented, making her blush in embarrassment. "So it's really quite unfair of her to expect you to keep up with all of this."

Elsa held back a frown at his conclusion—it was _slightly _condescending, after all—but she had the impression that he hadn't meant it as an offence.

_He seems more _annoyed_ to be out here than anything else._

Glancing at the others, as well—the silent Fredrik watching disapprovingly as Adrian spoke to her and the quietly bickering Ivar and Anders, both sweating a little in their full suits—she realised, then, that _none _of them really wanted to be there, and probably were feeling fairly envious of their other brothers who had summoned one excuse or another that morning to weasel their way out of the commitment.

Out of everyone, then, Therese was clearly having the most enjoyable time: her eyes, which had seemed tired that same morning, now sparkled at every vendor and businessman they greeted, her smile magnanimous at the children who waved to her as she passed, and her manner more open and _human _than she had been at court. As far as Elsa could tell, she was sincerely relishing the person-to-person contact, and the common folk, in turn, were just as taken with their Queen.

_. . . the Queen appears to have taken great pains over the course of her reign to ensure that the public's affections remain in her favour._

Kai's words rang much truer then, when she could see first-hand what he meant; and whereas before the Queen's determination to maintain the love of the people had intimidated Elsa, she now saw something . . . _gentler _in the woman's intentions.

_They all seem to really . . . _**love **_her._

It would have been one thing, she thought, if the Queen were walking through the city centre with her head held high, her train in tow, and the people bowing and scraping at her feet as she passed by, reverent of her majesty—that, Elsa mused, would _surely _have indicated her as guilty of ruling through fear or some sort of cheap bribery.

But this—her familiar touching of people's hands and shoulders, laughing with them about local news and tavern stories, asking them about their families and love lives as if she knew them all intimately, and the townspeople's similar casualness around her—this, Elsa mused, must be proof that there was a real, _deep _affection underlying the relationship between the Queen and the commoners.

_No wonder she didn't come to the port yesterday, _Elsa thought suddenly, remembering her confusion from the night before. _If she had . . . they would have gone _crazy _for her._

It was clear to her, then, that Therese's strategy had been a two-pronged one: first, have the princes greet Elsa upon her arrival so that the attention of the event would remain solely focused on the visiting queen; and second, show Elsa around the city the next day, so that she would understand, in person, just how secure the Southern Queen was in her spot—so secure, in fact, that making a public appearance in order to greet a foreign visitor to her shores would have actually constituted a _breach _of polite conduct.

Elsa shook her head, baffled at the realisation.

_It's so . . . _different _from Arendelle._

By comparison, she felt a little embarrassed at how _formal _her relations with her own people appeared. Yes, she tried to visit with them on occasion, and listened frequently to their petitions at court, but . . . they were all essentially strangers to her, after so many years spent shut away behind the castle gates.

She wondered absently, as she watched Therese continue to chat happily with Josefine, if her late father, the King, would have approved of such closeness; but no sooner had she wondered on this point than she suddenly remembered his face leaning down close to hers as he slipped the tiny white gloves on her hands, and telling her:

_The gloves will help—see? Conceal it. Don't feel it. Don't let it _show—

"Queen Elsa?"

She shook herself from her trance, meeting Adrian's curious look. "I'm sorry," she said briefly, an apologetic smile touching her features. "I was off in my own thoughts again, I'm afraid."

He shrugged. "No need for apologies, Your Majesty." Adrian gestured to the Queen, who was parting from Josefine's side. "It seems as though Mother has _finally _decided to end her conversation with the old woman, though—so I'd best fall back with the others." He winked at her. "I hope you don't mind."

She shook her head, her hands clasped primly in front of her. "Not at all. We'll speak again later, I'm sure."

Adrian merely bowed in response, and walked back to stand with the other guardsmen. Elsa noticed, with amusement, that Fredrik's glower at his younger brother's flirtations was menacing.

"I apologise for getting side-tracked," Therese said as she returned to Elsa's side, motioning for the group to continue along, "and for dragging you all over the place—you must be tired, now."

Elsa shook her head. "It's fine, really. I'm enjoying it, actually."

Therese's look, like Adrian's before it, showed her scepticism—but, also like her son, she was quick to conceal it.

"I'm glad," she replied, "but if you _are _tired, don't worry—we only have one more stop to make before returning to the palace for lunch."

Anders, following behind the two, stared after his mother's back questioningly, his moustache twitching with a frown as he pulled on his collar. "Where is the last stop, Mother?" he called after her as she moved to the head of the group, a few paces ahead of Elsa and the others.

She didn't spare him a glance. "Gustav's."

Anders looked as if he wanted to roll his eyes at this answer; Ivar, less conscientious of the impression he left, did so anyway, and grumbled something incomprehensible under his breath. Both men were practically sweating bullets by then as the group passed under the hot sun, since there was little shade to be found under the short canopies of the buildings in the city square.

But—just like before—they seemed unwilling to withdraw their fans from their coat pockets.

Glancing at the guardsmen behind her—who were dressed even _more _heavily than the twins—she wondered if, perhaps, Ivar and Anders were too embarrassed to fan themselves in front of their armoured brothers, as it might make them appear foppish by comparison.

_Men, _Elsa mused, wanting to laugh. _I'm glad I only have a sister._

Keeping a slower pace than the Queen and the twins, Elsa soon found herself falling in step with Fredrik, who—of all the brothers in the small group accompanying them—she knew the least about.

Observing his cold expression, she nevertheless had the feeling that he, too, was displeased with his mother's announcement that there would be yet _another _stop. Unlike the others, however, he had restrained himself from openly expressing this discontent.

_. . . a bit of a cosmic joke, it seems, on our _dear_ mother._

She recalled his sour quip from the night before, glancing at him briefly from the corner of her eye. Obviously, he had some unresolved issues with Therese—as they all seemed to, really—but, at least when his mother was _present, _he had refrained from saying anything untoward.

His eyes flared at her for a moment from under his dark blonde brow, and she flushed, looking at the ground.

_I must have been staring longer than I thought._

He would be handsomer, she guessed, if he did not always wear such an unapproachable and overly authoritative mask. After all, he and Adrian's colouring was somewhat similar, and the second-eldest brother _was, _she had gathered, still a bachelor.

_But I somehow doubt many women are fighting each other for the chance to marry him. Now his _younger brother_, on the other hand . . ._

She glanced at Adrian, just behind Fredrik—and no sooner had she done so than he flashed his winning smile at her, and she averted her gaze once more, embarrassed that each of her attempts to be furtive had failed so quickly.

_They're _always _watching, aren't they?_

"Here we are," Therese declared, and breathed in audibly, sighing. "And it smells as good as ever, Alma!" she exclaimed, poking her head just through the open windows of the shop. She turned back to Elsa, looking oddly excited. "I know we've already been to several bakeries in the city, Elsa," she said quietly, not wanting "Alma" to overhear, "but this is by _far _the best—isn't it, boys?"

Her sons all muttered their agreement, though it was easy to tell that they only did so to appease her.

Elsa hid a smirk at their annoyed looks, and breathed in the air of the bakery herself. Even if she was unsure as to the actual quality of the foods produced there, she could tell, from the scents, that they were probably as good as Therese said.

"Oh, my Queen—is that _you?" _a voice called back from inside the shop, and within seconds the door swung open, revealing a plump, red-faced woman bedecked in a flour-stained apron. She grinned widely as she surveyed the group with Therese, and a cloud of flour dusting puffed out around her as she curtsied. "_And _Queen Elsa! Well, this is _quite _the surprise!" she continued, clapping her large hands on her sides for effect. "Lucky for you, Your Majesties, that I just finished the _loveliest _batch of biscuits. Please, come in! I'll go and fetch Gustav from the kitchens."

Although the woman—whose name was "Alma," Elsa assumed, from the Queen's previous address—had invited them all inside, it quickly became clear that only two or three people could _actually _fit within the tiny shop at one time.

The princes were aware of this already, it seemed, as they all stayed outside. Therese motioned for Elsa to follow her when she looked uncertain at the situation, waving away the look of concern on the younger woman's face.

"They know there's only room for _us," _she remarked with a smirk, glancing at her discontented brood waiting in the heat outside. "So please, Elsa—don't hesitate to come in."

The Queen withdrew two chairs from the corner and pulled over a small table for the two of them, surprising Elsa, again, with her utter informality. After arranging the furniture to her liking, she motioned for her guest to sit down; too bemused by Therese's behaviour to question the request, Elsa simply yielded to it.

_It's as if she _owns _the place._

"You—you know the owners of this bakery well, then?" Elsa ventured.

Therese smiled broadly. "Yes—I've known Gustav, anyway, since—"

"Since before she became Queen!" Alma finished proudly as she reappeared from the kitchen with an equally plump, red-faced, and balding man in tow, sweat beading at his forehead. Alma ushered him over to her side, facing the guests. "Queen Elsa, allow me to introduce my husband, Gustav," she said, her voice effusive with praise at his name. "I hope you don't mind his appearance—he's just come from the kitchen."

Gustav smiled lopsidedly at this, looking sheepish as he bowed. "My apologies, Your Majesty."

Elsa smiled back. "It's fine, really," she reassured him, and complimented: "And besides, whatever you were making smells _very_ good."

"Isn't she just _charming?" _Therese said fondly, making the young queen blush. "But she's right—it _does _smell excellent in here! Is that coming from those biscuits you were speaking of?"

Alma nodded vigorously, patting her husband on the shoulder. "Indeed it is, Your Majesty! I'll fetch them now. In the meantime, dear," she said, turning to her husband, "why don't you keep Their Graces entertained?"

He bowed his head dutifully. "Of—of course," he responded as she pinched his cheek and scuttled back off behind the door, leaving him with the other women. He stared after her a moment longer before turning his attention back to the guests of honour—and Elsa noted, with some surprise, that his eyes were a beautiful shade of bluish green.

_That seems . . . _familiar, _for some reason._

"So, Your Majesties," he addressed them, and she drew herself out of her pondering, "what brings you to our little shop today? It's quite unexpected, but, uh, of course," he continued awkwardly, his pudgy cheeks pinking in embarrassment, "you're always welcome here."

Therese's smile was ever-present. "We were just giving Queen Elsa a little tour of the city to start the day," she informed him sweetly, "though I'm afraid we can't stay long, as my sons might melt, otherwise."

She glanced over with faux exasperation at her sons standing impatiently outside, and Gustav looked as well—but, strangely, when his eyes landed upon the princes by his window, they stayed there—for a _while_.

Elsa followed his gaze with a furrowed brow, her interest piqued by the unusually long pause; she was disappointed to find, however, that in that exact moment, Gustav's look had drawn away from the window again, having evidently been chastened by none other than Fredrik (who looked positively _offended, _it seemed, by a commoner raising his eyes to him).

"Well, in that case we—we won't keep you long," he told them briefly, his face red—but not from the heat of the kitchen, Elsa suspected.

She looked between Therese and Gustav with polite attentiveness. "You've known each other a long time?"

They exchanged a small smile, then—a smile, Elsa thought suddenly, that reminded her of the kind Therese exchanged with the _King—_but it was gone just as soon as it had come.

"Yes—like Alma said, we met when we were children, barely thirteen," Therese replied nostalgically. "His father owned this bakery before him, you see, and so Gustav has worked here all his life."

Elsa blinked.

_They're . . . the _same_ age?_

Her widened blue eyes gave her away as Gustav and the Queen shared a chuckle at her expense. The former picked up where the Queen left off, his tone amused.

"I know it's hard to believe, Queen Elsa, as Her Majesty still looks a maiden compared to me," he began with a shy smile, "but it's true—we became friends when she used to come by the shop and pick up bread for her family, and she even gave my father the honour of being the official baker for her coronation! Not to mention so many other events in the years after."

"And we've been friends for all this time," Therese said happily, and grinned at Elsa as she added: "But really, he knows that it wouldn't have lasted if he hadn't married Alma." She laughed as Gustav pouted at the remark, and it was strangely _pleasant, _Elsa mused, to hear the Queen laugh in such an honest way. "She's truly the most _delightful_ woman."

"Oh, Queen Therese," Alma sighed affectionately as she banged through the kitchen door again, a plate in hand, "you're far too kind!" She placed the plate on the makeshift dining table between the two women, staring with wide, expectant blue eyes as each of them brought one of the still-warm biscuits to their lips.

Elsa ate the treat carefully with her free hand not holding flowers, not wanting any crumbs to fall onto her dress. The sweet, crisp flavour of it, as a result, hit her like a slow wave, and she nearly had to pause, mid-chew, to absorb it all at once.

_It's . . . it's . . . _

_"Delicious," _she whispered to herself, her tone awed.

Therese held back a smirk as she chewed the rest of her biscuit, looking knowingly at Alma. "Ah, the first bite—how I wish I could go back and experience it all over again!"

Alma giggled, and Elsa finally pulled herself out of her sweets-induced trance to give the woman an appreciative look. "It really is incredible," she said admiringly. "I'm sure you must give the other bakeries a run for their money."

Alma smiled gratefully, her look growing a bit more serious. "I'm glad you like it, Queen Elsa," she said, and walked over to pat Therese's shoulder softly. "But, really, without this _amazing _woman's patronage, I doubt we would be even _half _as successful as we are."

Therese waved off the comment. "Honestly, Alma, there's no need—"

"No—it's true," Gustav continued, his eyes fiercely proud as they stared at the Queen. "Her Majesty is always praising us and the other merchants and farmers in the city, but . . . she's the one who _really _deserves it."

His wife nodded wholeheartedly in agreement even as the Queen looked slightly embarrassed by their gushing tribute. "And not just for how she's helped us—but for how she's helped this _kingdom," _she emphasised. "It's become a far better place to live for us common folk, you know, since she became Queen."

Therese's green eyes sparkled with determination. "I was born a commoner, just the same as you," she told Alma and Gustav seriously. "It would have been practically criminal if I _hadn't _done something to help my own people."

Alma beamed. "You see? You see how _wonderful _she is?"

Gustav was, likewise, radiant. "Selfless, truly."

Elsa could only nod at their high praise of Therese, unable to _really _relate to it; her own impression of the Queen, anyway, was not well-formed enough yet to confirm or deny those of the city-dwellers (which had been, admittedly, _overwhelmingly _positive).

_It's almost bizarre how . . . _universal _it is._

Alma drew another chair from the corner to sit by them, eyeing Elsa meaningfully. "I hope Her Majesty doesn't mind me saying so," she glanced back at Therese, "but I think that our King really _needed _her—things might have gotten even worse around here, otherwise."

Elsa's head cocked to the side, puzzled by the quiet comment. "Worse?"

Alma nodded sombrely. "You see, before she became Queen," she began as if in confidence, "I think His Majesty was having quite a hard time managing things. There was a terrible drought that started after his father died, and, well . . ." she trailed off uncomfortably, and looked to Therese for help.

The Queen obliged. "Oskar's father, King Nikolaj, was—well, he left the kingdom in a poor state upon his death," she said haltingly, minding her words. "Drought, as Alma mentioned, and famine, civil unrest . . . it was really too much at once for _anyone _to handle."

"And the poor man lost his first wife, too," Gustav broke in solemnly. "Queen Marie, who died in childbirth."

Therese matched his tone with her own, sorrowful one. "After years of trying to conceive a child, as well!" she added, shaking her head. "My dear, poor husband."

Alma patted the Queen's hand at the comment, obviously touched by the woman's grief. Elsa, however, was _slightly _more incredulous at Therese's pity for her husband's woeful history.

_That woman's death _did_ allow her to become Queen, after all._

The baker's wife continued after the required pause. "People were upset, as you can imagine, with the state of things—and they took out their anger on the King, even though he wasn't really to blame." She frowned at the memory, looking at Therese. "But then . . . he married you, Your Majesty," she said, her voice warmer, "and through your ingenuity, you saved us all."

Elsa's brow rose. "Ingenuity?"

Therese sighed, affectionate exasperation in her voice. "She's exaggerating as always, dear woman," she corrected with a smile. "I merely helped along the practical side of digging new wells, crop redistribution, sanitation improvements—really, it was nothing remarkable."

Alma looked affronted at the Therese's modesty. "Oh, bite your _tongue, _Your Majesty!" she exclaimed, her hands on her hips as she stood from the chair, staring defensively at the taken aback Queen of Arendelle. "I would _never _exaggerate about this woman—there's no need to, when she's been so good to us!"

Her face got redder as she puffed up with self-righteous indignation, and her husband backed away a little towards the door, knowing what was coming. "It wasn't _just _that she had the new wells built, and made sure no one was starving and that we all had clean water to drink," she began, her chest rising, "but also that she's never stopped since—even in the face of all those _nasty _lords and ladies at court, she's been our champion day in and day out, never asking us for a thing in return."

Therese, Elsa noticed, remained unruffled throughout this impassioned speech, not a speck of a blush to be found in her pink cheeks; and as Alma came to her ardent conclusion, her eyes almost _challenging _Therese to deny what she'd said, the red-haired woman merely smiled coyly, and took another biscuit from the plate.

"And, unfortunately," she said, rising from her seat, "we must be off now to face these very same 'nasty' lords and ladies at the palace."

Alma curtsied, blushing sheepishly. "Sorry for that, Queen Therese," she apologised clumsily, "I might have gotten a little . . . _carried away _in the moment."

Therese waved away the apology, a small grin on her lips. "I wouldn't fault you for that, Alma," she said understandingly, and glanced at Elsa—who, catching the look, quickly rose from her chair as well, brushing away any crumbs that might have gotten on her dress. "Do you mind if we take the rest home?" Therese asked, gesturing to the remaining biscuits.

Gustav stepped in front of his flustered wife at the request, taking the plate up. "Of course, Your Majesty," he said immediately. "I'll just wrap them up for you."

She nodded as he went behind the counter, and Alma, by then, had calmed down, smiling easily as before. "We hope you'll come by again soon, Your Majesties," she told them, and Gustav reappeared with a white cloth bag tied with a decorative blue ribbon. "Next time, though, _do_ tell us in advance, so we can have something nicer prepared for you both."

Therese nodded, amused. "The biscuits were perfectly adequate," she replied, taking the bag gently from Gustav with knowing eyes. "But I promise to let you know, when we stop by in the future."

Alma nodded approvingly at this, and Gustav bowed, opening the door to the shop for the departing queens. "We'll be glad to see you, then," he said courteously, and his gaze met Therese's, if briefly, as she nodded back to the couple.

"Goodbye for now," the Queen spoke in parting before finally turning back to the original group of princes and guards—all looking _thoroughly _heat-stricken, by then—and almost immediately plastered on an entirely different countenance, her eyes indifferent.

"Fredrik," she addressed her son at the head of the guardsmen, "would you lead us back to the palace?"

"Of course, Your Majesty," he answered automatically, and guided them towards the main stone path winding back to the palace.

There were carriages, thankfully, stationed at the bottom of the hill, and Elsa nearly sighed at the sight of the horses, suddenly aware of just how exhausted she _really_ was from the long morning tour.

"If you're tired, Elsa," Therese said, and her tone was stiffer than the young queen had expected it to be, "you're welcome to take lunch in your room. I might even do so myself," she added.

It was clear, then, that she was just as worn out as Elsa, though she had been unerringly careful in her effort to conceal this fact throughout the day thus far. This was evidenced, at least, by the return of the dark circles under her eyes, which looked even grimmer than before.

Elsa nodded her approval at the suggestion. "I think that might be good for both of us," she said, and continued somewhat cautiously: "You must be quite tired yourself, after all of that."

The Queen smiled tightly as they reached the carriages, allowing Fredrik to give her a hand up into it. He helped Elsa up shortly after, and she nodded to him in thanks, though he ignored the gesture.

"Yes," Therese said simply as they sat next to each other, the carriages pulling away from the city. "I suppose I am."

She closed her emerald eyes as the wind rushed past them, blowing strands of her auburn hair around her strong jaw and tense, full lips, and finally released a small, inaudible sigh.

Elsa watched her all the while, her gaze soft—but full of questions.

_Who _is _this woman?_


	10. Chapter 9: The Mirror

**Author's Note: **One last, short chapter before our pair finally meet again! But you'll be pleased, I hope, to see a bit of a moment between them at the end. (Sort of.) Thanks for the reviews!

* * *

**Chapter 9: The Mirror**

She tapped the quill agitatedly against the paper, her eyes fixed on her own script.

_Dear Anna,_

_I'm sorry if this letter reaches you later than expected. The North Sea seems to be unpredictable this time of year, and we had quite a rough journey on the way over._

She frowned.

_That's _it?

She'd been sitting at the desk in her room—no, _his _room, she reminded herself, her frown growing—for over half an hour after finishing lunch, and had only managed those two sentences in all that time.

_Maybe I just started it wrong, _she reasoned, and carefully folded the draft before disposing of it in the wastebasket beside her, sighing. She withdrew another loose sheet from under the paper weight at the corner of the desk, dipped her quill in the inkwell, and began again.

_Dear Anna,_

_You've probably been wondering why it's taken so long to receive this letter from me—and, I admit, I'm writing it to you on my second day here, since I didn't have the time on the first to do so—but I hope that, upon reading this, you'll be reassured that I am safe and well-looked after here. The Queen, in particular, has been—_

Elsa paused, staring at the paper.

_Has been . . . _what?

Her lips pursed, dissatisfied.

_And why did I only write "the Queen"? Surely I should mention the Queen _and _King, so as not to raise suspicions._

She sighed again, crumpling the second draft with cold fingers, flurries falling gently onto the table. She shook them off, clearing her mind as she threw the paper away and then smoothed out a fresh one.

**_Dearest _**_Anna—_

Her nose wrinkled at the address—would that _really _help anything?

_She'll probably just think I'm hiding something._

She crushed the paper, threw it away, and started again.

_Dear Anna,_

_I'm sorry if you get this letter late, and if you've been worrying about me. I hope things are well with you back home, and that Kai's been helping settle you into your new role. I know it must be difficult, but you're probably doing a fine job. _

_How is Kristoff? Olaf? Sven? Has Prince Eugene called at port yet, or is he late (as usual)? Give him my best wishes whenever he arrives._

_As for me, well, it's only my second day at court, and so I'm still getting used to everything here. The King and Queen have been keeping me very busy since I arrived, though: a welcome dinner and ball last night, and a tour of the city this morning. I'm already exhausted, but, if can you believe it—there's going to be _another _ball this evening! I know you love them, Anna, but I'm beginning to wonder if I can handle all of this for the next two weeks._

She stopped there, again, and her forehead creased in consternation. Something was . . . _off _about this one as well.

_What's wrong now?_ her logical brain asked, annoyed—but it wasn't long before the answer came to her, abrupt and stingingly obvious.

_You're not being _honest,_ Elsa._

She bit her lip, irritated with herself. She'd made _so _much progress—nearly three paragraphs!—but, as usual, her self-doubt nagged at her until she was forced to toss the draft in much the same way as all the others before it, and placed another sheet by the quill.

Merely _looking _at the blank page, however, made Elsa groan, and she splayed herself over the desk, resting her head resignedly on her forearms as snow pattered around her.

_At this rate, _nothing _will get written, _she chided herself, and glanced at the page through her folded arms. Reluctantly she drew herself up again, dissolving the snow cloud above her, and moodily stared at the desk, tapping her fingers impatiently against its varnished surface.

_You have to tell her the _truth.

Her lip curled, aggravated at the idea.

_She's going to find out anyway,_ _eventually—but _you _should be the first one to tell her._

Rationally, she knew her brain was correct—and that, if her sister found out from anyone else _but _Elsa about the traitor's return to court, she would be even _angrier _than at the news itself.

_After all, I promised her that we would _never_ close the gates again._

It was this thought that finally propelled her to take up the quill again, sighing for the umpteenth time; but, of course, the minute she did so, she distracted herself by looking around the room, searching, as before, for any sign that _he _had once occupied it.

As always, though, there seemed to be no stone left unturned in the refurnishing of the place—and somehow that didn't surprise her, when she thought of the Queen's dark expression at the mention of the thirteenth prince.

She ran a hand through her long, white hair as she wrote, frazzled.

_Dear Anna,_

_I don't know when you'll receive this letter, but I hope it's not long after I've written it. _

_I wrote others before it—telling you how I'm faring at court, about the weather on the seas, what events they've held in my honour—but I threw them all away, because those things . . . they're not as important as what I _really _have to tell you._

_You see, yesterday was my first day in the Isles, and I met everyone then—the King, the Queen, and all their sons—but something _else_ happened, too._

_I was standing in front of them, and we were about to go around the palace, but I felt as though something was wrong with it all. I was unhappy, Anna, with the way they were speaking to me; with the way they treated me, as if I were this little, delicate flower who would be hurt by just hearing his name aloud. I felt like I had to prove to them that they were wrong about me—about _both _of us—but I didn't know how to do it . . . except for one thing._

_So I asked them, then, to allow him back—to allow _Hans_ back—for my visit to court. I told them it was so we could finally move past what happened, and so that I could see his penitence in person, but . . . honestly, I'm not actually sure why I did it, and I'm still wondering about it now, as I write this letter to you._

_I know what I did will upset you, and I can't blame you for that, since I don't understand my own feelings that well yet. But maybe it _is _just about "confronting the past head-on," Anna—maybe I _do _just want to feel like things are finally resolved, even if it hurts us both._

_I'm sorry, Anna—but please believe me when I say that I miss you more than anything else in the world._

_Love, _

_Elsa_

She exhaled deeply as she laid the quill down again, and closed her eyes, meditative.

_I hope that's enough._

**"Queen Elsa?"**

She nearly toppled her chair over in surprise at the sudden knocking on the door, and she quickly folded the letter and shoved it into the first drawer in plain sight, her heart racing.

"Y—yes, Finn?" she answered as she stood, trying desperately to compose herself again.

"Sir Leif here to see you, Your Majesty," he replied from beyond the oak barrier, and she breathed out, a little relieved.

_At least it's not the Queen._

"Let him in," she said, watching with calmer eyes as her adviser entered the room with an apologetic expression, the door closing behind him.

His dark head remained bowed as he spoke. "I'm sorry to interrupt you, Your Majesty," he said, sounding genuinely contrite, "but I had to come and apologise in person for my long absence today thus far. I've only just returned from my tour of the Council chambers, the library, and the attached study hall with Sir Anton, you see, and—"

She held up a hand, halting him mid-sentence, and smiled patiently. "It's fine, Leif. I was worried that you'd be bored here, actually, while we were gone—though it seems as though you've been kept busy as well, which is a relief."

He stared at her with some surprise at this, finally raising his head again. "Your Majesty, I—your tolerance of my shameful behaviour humbles me," he said quietly, averting his eyes as his cheeks pinked. "I hope you can forgive me."

Her smile was the same as before. "Forgiven and already forgotten, I assure you," she told him. "Actually, I'm glad to see you, as there is something I wanted to discuss with you."

Leif gazed at her curiously, and she motioned for him to sit down by her at the desk.

"Did something happen during the morning's tour, Your Majesty?" he asked, concerned.

She shook her head, though her smile faded. "No—nothing to worry about, anyway," she replied somewhat vaguely, looking away at the window. "I just . . . needed your advice," she admitted finally, turning her gaze wearily to her adviser. "About the Queen."

A look of understanding passed over his features. "The Queen," he repeated, and crossed his arms.

Elsa nodded, her brow furrowing. "The King retired early during the tour, you see, leaving me with her and the other Princes," she explained, holding his stare, "and she was just so . . . _familiar _with all the commoners." Her lips pursed again in thought. "It was refreshing, of course, but also somewhat . . . _strange, _compared to her behaviour at court." She eyed him curiously. "I'm—I guess I'm finding it difficult to understand her, is what I'm trying to say."

Leif shrugged, to her surprise, and sounded nonchalant. "We've only been here _two days_, Your Majesty," he pointed out, his brow rising sceptically. "I don't think it's particularly worrisome that you don't 'understand' her yet, given the circumstances."

Elsa reddened in embarrassment.

_He always manages to make me feel _foolish,_ doesn't he?_

She swallowed, smiling uneasily. "Yes, I suppose you're right," she allowed, rising from the chair again. He followed suit out of propriety. "I—I'm just overreacting, probably."

Leif sighed a little. "It's all right, Queen Elsa," he reassured her, though even _that _sounded somewhat patronising. "We're in a strange land, after all, and the stories about the Queen are not _particularly _flattering," he noted with a frown, and went on, "and you're likely still exhausted from the trip here—I know _I _haven't fully recovered yet myself—so it's natural for you to be overcautious."

His expression was lighter than before as he finished. "Besides, I'm happy to be in your confidence, whatever your concerns may be."

Elsa held back a frown at the comment, forcing herself to smile again. "And I am lucky to have you by my side," she returned with some effort, and she'd never missed Kai more than in that moment. She turned away and walked to the window, looking out at the bright daylight of the afternoon; absently, she wished she could be back in the streets again, sitting in Gustav and Alma's bakery with a biscuit in hand.

"Anyway, that's all, really," she concluded awkwardly, glancing back at him. "Was there any other business you had with me, Leif?"

He shook his head. "No, Queen Elsa—just the apology," he replied simply. "I'll see you again at dinner."

"Until then," Elsa said, if absentmindedly, and barely kept her eyes affixed to the scene long enough to watch him bow deeply and then depart.

As soon as the door was closed again, she glowered.

_He's already quite _taken _with the Queen, _she thought, remembering how awed he had been during their first meeting in the throne room. _And I doubt she'll be anything but on her _best_ behaviour around him._

The notion made her want to roll her blue eyes in annoyance, and she wondered, then, if Leif was _really _going to be as useful to her as she had hoped. Her gaze cooled, and she glanced back at the desk, her fingers curling into a fist.

_I should send it._

Light from the window filtered across its smooth surface, but the drawer within which she had tossed the letter remained engulfed by shadows.

She turned away from it, and pressed a bare hand to her forehead, a trail of ice brushing against the skin there.

_But not now._

* * *

He stared at the suit laid out on the cot, his feelings torn between irritation and resignation.

_A servant's attire—just as I expected._

Black boots and breeches, a white undershirt and cravat, a black vest, and a black jacket on top—but, of all these, his eyes fixed themselves on the pair of white gloves resting by the jacket, and he picked them up carefully, pressing the fabric with his hard, calloused fingers.

He frowned at the sensation, and threw them back on the bed.

_I don't feel _clean _enough to wear those._

It was strange to think that, he supposed, since had long since washed and shaved as per the Queen's instructions. But when he looked down at the worn skin of his hands, it only served to remind him of the conditions related to his "return" to court.

_You did this to _yourself,_ and thenceforth you will suffer the consequences of your actions._

He scoffed upon replaying his mother's words in his head, and promptly stripped off the simple clothes he had been wearing all day, pulling on the outfit prepared for him with a hard, set look. It felt less comfortable than his loose, breathable clothes back on the farm, and it had been so long, after all—_too _long, really—since he'd last worn something so fitted.

_I still think like a prisoner, even here._

He snorted derisively at his own discomfort, and ran a hand across his newly-smooth jawline, his eyes sharp as he observed his reflection in the small mirror provided him.

It was strange to see his face again, undistorted by grime or cracks in the reflective surface. He looked practically _burnished _under the dim candlelight in the room, his skin having darkened a good shade or two during his year in exile. It was hardly as tan as those of his "relations" back on Vollan—and hardly so wrinkled by years of exposure to the sun—but the former rosiness in his cheeks had disappeared, as had the relaxed skin around his eyes.

_At least I was able to get some sleep before this _farce _begins, _he thought grimly, somewhat appeased by the reduction of the otherwise permanent dark bags under his eyes.

Truthfully, there had been nothing _else _to do after he had been unceremoniously dumped in the servants' quarters with the bare minimum of supplies needed to clean himself up. After being escorted with a full flank of guards to the washroom and then back to his room again, someone had only come in once to bring him a meagre lunch of bread and thin soup (likely from the bottom of the pot, he guessed) and to inform him that he would be expected at the ball that evening.

And after that . . . well, he'd been left to his own devices.

He had been too awake, at first, to sleep—which was understandable, given since the sudden, unexpected events of that same morning, not to mention the ones that had taken place since his arrival at the palace under cover of night—but even when the bustle abated, and he felt tiredness seep into his muscles, he found himself agitated by the lack of _anything _to occupy himself with in the tiny, nearly unfurnished room he'd been placed in.

_A wooden cot with a mattress and thin sheet on top, a tableside dresser . . . and a _mirror.

What he would need the dresser for, he had no idea—he'd been brought back to the palace with only the clothes on his back, and whatever other garments he would receive there, he doubted they would fill an entire _dresser_—even a small one.

Eventually, however, he'd succumbed to sleep (or, perhaps, plain _boredom_); but his sleep, of course, had been just as fitful and unpleasant as his waking state.

_That _damn _woman._

He scowled at the memory of the Queen's unbearably smug look—of her _dangerously _knowing eyes, the same colour as his own—and her imperious scolding, much as he tried to ignore it, echoed in his mind long after she had gone back to her own bed, never sparing him even a parting glance.

_You should have been satisfied with what you had—and you already had the _world_ at your fingertips._

He could still hear that grating edge to her voice which appeared whenever she was annoyed at him, or made some typically patronising remark. Worse yet, he could still see her _sneering_ at him as she said it.

_But _no_—you had to go and be the ungrateful _brat_ that you are, and ruin any chance you might have had for lasting contentment._

Nothing could push her words from the front of his mind—not boarding a carriage and then a boat for the first time in almost a year, nor feeling the sea air against his dry skin, the waves rolling tempestuously, nor even seeing the palace as they arrived at its private dock in the shadow of the very early morning hours, the kingdom still covered in a veil of darkness—and as he sat down on the side of the cot, now fully dressed in his dark suit, those words pressed down on his skull more fervently than ever.

_If you had only been a bit more persistent, you could have won the heart of the Snow Queen herself._

He suddenly barked a short, harsh laugh at that, and the sound, he recalled with an uneasy shudder, was not unlike the Queen's.

_She doesn't know a _thing _about it, _he thought bitterly, and finally snatched the gloves from the bed again, grasping them tightly. Suddenly, he didn't care that they felt alien in his hands, like relics from an ancient world he had long since forgotten. Instead, all that mattered was what they _symbolised—_and _that, _he knew, was everything that she didn't think him capable of being ever again.

A man of character—of _nobility_.

Even if they were servants' gloves, of cheaper and thinner make than the ones that had been hand-tailored for him as a prince_, _there was still something about them, he knew, that held a kind of _power—_the power to be someone else, if only for a few hours.

_A power that she can't take away from me._

He put them on carefully, just like he used to, one finger at a time; and after each one, he smoothed out any visible creases, his brow furrowed in intense concentration.

_I don't have to prove _anything _to her._

He breathed in with more confidence, his posture straightening as he took in his appearance once more. This time, however, his expression did not twist, nor did his eyes narrow discontentedly.

Strangely, in fact, something happened which he did _not _expect.

She'll_ be wearing them too, won't she?_

He suddenly saw her staring back at him in the mirror—Elsa, the Snow Queen of Arendelle—and though it had been a long while since he had last seen her, her image was startlingly clear.

_A dress of ice, gloved hands, pale skin, white hair._

His gaze travelled up, and stopped.

_Blue eyes. _Those _blue eyes._

To his own surprise, he smiled—but his smile was almost a grimace.

_I'll be seeing you soon, _**Elsa.**


End file.
